THE  MAN  WITH  THE 
BROODING  EYES 


BY 

JOHN    GOODWIN     \  , 

oc  c(       G     i;r.i      1 


G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 
NEW   YORK   AND    LONDON 

TTbe  Icnicherbocher  press 
1921 


Copyright,  1921 

by 
G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 

Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PACK 

I. — THE  LATE  LAMENTED     V1'      .  .        3 

II. — A  CASE  IN  CHAMBERS     .         .  .       17 

III. — THE  WORTH  FROCK       :   .       '';  .       26 

IV. — BORROWED  PLUMES           .         f,  .      34 

V. — THE  CODE  TELEGRAM      .       V  .       46 

VI. — IN  THE  NAME  OF  CHARITY       .  .      58 

VII. — THE  INCREDIBLE  TIDINGS         .  .      65 

VIII. — COUNSEL'S  OPINION          .         .  .       82 

IX.— THE  NEW  JOAN       ....      89 

X. — THE  SHADOW  FALLS         ...      98 

XL — THE  KEY  TO  VICTORY      .         .  .105 

XII. — MR.  SLANEY  RESIGNS       .         .  .125 

XIII. — A  BOMBSHELL           .         .         .  .133 

XIV. — EMMIE  LOOKS  AHEAD       .         .  .     146 

XV. — THE  GREAT  QUESTION     .         .  .158 

XVI. — "LEST  AULD  ACQUAINTANCE "  .     175 


2129951 


iv  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PACK 

XVII. — THE  RIFT  IN  THE  LUTE  .         .         .194 

XVIII. — THE  STRONGER  HAND       .         .         .     219 

XIX. — THE  SECOND  COUP  ....     229 

XX. — THE  FINAL  OFFER    ....     244 

XXI. — A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  SUN        .         .     252 

XXII. — THE  WAY  OF  THE  WORLD        .         .     272 

XXIII. — MOTTISFONT  PLEADS  GUILTY    .         .     289 

XXIV. — THE  SAFEGUARD       ....     300 

XXV. — THE  PRIMITIVE  MALE      .         .         .310 

XXVI.— THE  VICTOR 322 

XXVII.— THE  SACRIFICE         .         .         .         .338 

XXVIII. — THE  HALLS  OF  HER  ANCESTORS        .     354 

XXIX. — THE  GENTLEMAN  FROM  SALINAS        .     364 

XXX. — EXIT  LORD  TALLBOIS       .         .         .     380 

XXXI.— TRAPPED  .         .         .         .         .393 

XXXII. — THE  HUT  ON  THE  MARSHES     .         .     405 

XXXIII.— THE  THREE  DEEDS  .         .         .420 


The  Man  with  the  Brooding  Eyes 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE 
BROODING  EYES 

CHAPTER  I 

THE  LATE  LAMENTED 

"GENTLEMEN,"  said  Mr.  Callaghan,  "I  will  declare 
a  dividend." 

He  opened  a  morocco  case  and  laid  a  neat  pile 
of  bank-notes  on  the  lacquer  table  beside  him.  Mr. 
Callaghan 's  air  was  that  of  a  company-promoter 
presenting  an  unsatisfactory  balance-sheet.  Polish- 
ing his  spectacles  gently  with  a  silk  handkerchief, 
he  replaced  them.  His  long  white  hand  lifted  a 
number  of  notes  from  the  pile  and  laid  them  on  one 
side. 

"Vaille,  two  hundred  pounds." 

Vaille,  dark  and  languid,  admirably  dressed,  folded 
the  notes  with  slender  fingers  and  placed  them  in  his 
pocket-book.  There  was  a  slightly  contemptuous 
expression  in  his  eyes. 

"Drummond,  two  hundred  and  fifty  pounds." 

Harold  Drummond,  smart,  fair-haired,  and  debon- 
air, took  his  share  with  a  smile. 

"Thank  you,  Chief,"  he  said  genially. 

"Slaney,  three  hundred  pounds." 

3 


4       THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

Slaney,  though  his  share  was  the  largest,  showed 
obvious  discontent.  His  face  was  sharp  and  peaked, 
his  speech  and  appearance  vulgar.  His  small  pale 
eyes  were  remarkably  intelligent  and  suspicious. 
He  had  watched  grudgingly  the  distribution  of  notes 
to  his  companions. 

"It's  little  enough  for  the  work  I  did  and  the  risk 
I  took,"  he  said  sullenly. 

The  delightful  benevolence  in  Mr.  Callaghan's  face 
suddenly  vanished  as  if  it  had  been  wiped  out  with  a 
sponge.  His  eyes  became  like  points  of  hard  crystal 
that  bored  into  Slaney's  and  made  the  man  shrink 
back  as  if  he  had  been  struck.  There  was  silence  for 
several  moments. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Slaney,"  said  Callaghan 
slowly,  "have  you  any  comments  to  make?" 

"No,  Chief,"  said  Slaney  huskily,  "none." 

The  amiable  expression  returned  to  Callaghan's 
eyes,  and  he  smiled  slightly.  But  for  a  moment  it 
was  as  though  a  mask  had  been  lifted  to  show  his 
soul,  and  with  it  such  a  power  as  none  of  the  other 
men  in  that  room  dared  face. 

"Bell,  one  hundred  and  fifty  pounds." 

Mr.  Bell,  in  black  clothes  of  a  semi-clerical  cut, 
took  the  notes  reverently  in  his  plump  white  hands. 
He  had  the  air  of  murmuring  a  blessing  as  he  placed 
the  money  softly  in  his  breast  pocket. 

"And  that,"  said  Mr.  Callaghan,  filling  himself  a 
glass  of  port  from  the  Venetian  decanter  at  his  side, 
"is  absolutely  all."  He  lay  back  and  put  the  tips  of 
his  fingers  together.  ' '  A  more  grossly  unsatisfactory 
affair,  my  friends,  I  have  never  put  before  you. 


THE  LATE  LAMENTED  5 

"That  money  which — with  certain  deductions — I 
have  divided  among  you  was  realized  by  the  sale  in 
Amsterdam  of  the  Wertstein  diamond  chaplet.  It 
is  as  much  as  we  could  expect.  The  greater  prize 
for  which  we  laid  our  plans,  Lady  Wertstein 's  rubies 
— worth  twenty  and  thirty  times  this  trivial  sum — 
that  prize  we  failed  to  acquire.  It  is  now  for  ever 
beyond  our  reach.  We  have  all  of  us,  my  friends,  run 
the  gravest  risk  of  our  careers :  a  risk  now  happily  put 
an  end  to.  And  we  have  lost  one  of  our  most  active 
partners." 

"It  is  all  over,  I  suppose,  Chief?"  asked  Drum- 
mond. 

"All  over,"  said  Callaghan,  drawing  an  evening 
paper  from  his  pocket.  "You  have  not  seen  this? 
I  will  read  you  the  account." 

Mr.  Callaghan  adjusted  the  silver-rimmed  specta- 
cles on  his  nose,  stretched  himself  luxuriously  in  the 
easy-chair,  folded  back  the  paper,  and  read  aloud 
in  a  pleasant,  scholarly  voice,  enunciating  his  words 
clearly.  His  companions  listened  in  dead  silence. 

MARDYKE   EXECUTED 

GOES  SILENTLY  TO  THE  SCAFFOLD 

Robert  Mardyke,  sentenced  recently  at  the  New 
Bailey  for  the  Park  Crescent  murder  and  safe  robbery 
(in  which  Sir  Isidor  Wertstein  was  shot  dead  in  his  own 
house),  was  executed  at  ten  o'clock  this  morning  in 
Blexton  Prison. 

The  condemned  man,  when  informed  that  the  fatal  day 
had  arrived,  received  the  news  calmly.  On  being  taken 


6       THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

to  the  execution-yard,  he  listened  courteously  to  the 
exhortation  of  the  chaplain.  He  declined  to  make  any 
statement,  and  merely  requested  that  he  might  be 
neither  pinioned  nor  blindfolded.  He  walked  on  to  the 
drop-platform  with  a  firm  step. 

The  prison  doctor  subsequently  reported  that  death 
had  been  instantaneous. 

Vaille's  slim  fingers  wandered  involuntarily  to  his 
neck,  and  caressed  it  softly.  He  gave  an  artistic 
shudder. 

"How  very  crude,"  he  murmured. 

A  little  hush  fell  on  the  room.  Drummond  was 
the  first  to  move.  With  a  steady  hand  he  poured  out 
five  brimming  glasses  from  the  ruby  fluid  in  the 
decanter. 

"On  your  feet,  gentlemen,"  he  said  quietly. 
' '  Let  us  drink  to  the  memory  of  our  departed  brother 
and  his  admirable  gift  of  silence — now,  alas,  eternal. 
Robert  Mardyke." 

The  assembly  rose  like  one  man.  Four  raised  their 
glasses  gravely  and  emptied  them.  Mr.  Callaghan 
took  no  more  than  a  sip  from  his,  and,  turning 
deliberately,  faced  a  portrait  that  hung  over  the  old 
oak  mantelpiece. 

"Since  we  are  drinking  to  the  dead,"  he  said  in  a 
louder  voice,  "I  drink  to  one  who  was  greater  than  us 
all.  Jim  Carey !  Ah !  if  he  had  been  alive  to  under- 
take that  job,  there  would  have  been  no  failure! 
He  was  the  king  of  our  profession — a  giant,  among 
pigmies.  Even  I,  high  though  I  stand  among  you, 
am  proud  to  have  been  his  comrade  and  disciple. 
Slim  Jim  Carey — master  of  his  trade — wanted  by 


THE  LATE  LAMENTED  7 

the  police  of  three  continents,  and  none  of  them  could 
run  him  to  earth  or  guess  his  true  identity.  Dead, 
ten  months  ago,  in  an  obscure  French  village — and 
no  monument  to  his  fame,  save  his  memory  here  in 
our  hearts.  I  drink  to  the  mighty  dead!" 

He  drained  his  glass,  and  sank  despondently  into 
the  arm-chair. 

"We  shall  never  look  upon  his  like  again,"  he  said 
mournfully. 

There  was  a  murmur  of  assent  from  the  four  men. 
For  a  moment  all  eyes  were  turned  upon  the  picture. 
It  was  the  work  of  a  master  of  portraiture,  showing 
the  head  and  shoulders  of  a  man  with  a  refined,  well- 
chiselled  face,  straight  nose,  and  a  neat,  pointed 
brown  beard.  The  moustache  failed  to  hide  entirely 
the  cruel  corners  of  the  mouth,  but  the  forehead  was 
high  and  intellectual,  and  the  nostrils  delicately 
curved.  But  the  all-mastering  feature  was  the  eyes 
— wide,  keen,  and  deep  blue,  with  lights  in  them  like 
the  lights  in  a  king-opal.  They  had  the  brooding 
stare  that  is  seen  in  the  eyes  of  the  great  birds  of  prey. 

Vaille  broke  the  silence. 

"All  this  is  true,"  he  said,  "but  Jim  Carey  cannot 
help  us  now.  Chief,"  he  said  earnestly,  "what  is  to 
be  our  next  move?  We  must  strike  a  new  line. 
Under  your  favour,  we  must  change  our  methods 
utterly.  None  of  us  are  cowards,  I  hope,  but  we 
have  escaped  a  great  danger,  and  only  your  skill  has 
pulled  us  through.  Our  coffers  are  low." 

' '  Vaille's  right, ' '  said  Drummond  decisively.  " I'll 
play  with  any  stakes,  Chief,  but  I  object  to  gambling 
my  neck  for  coppers." 


8       THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

"What  we  want's  a  soft  job,"  said  Slaney,  helping 
himself  to  brandy,  "a  soft,  sure  job,  with  big  money 
in  it." 

"Aye,"  said  the  clerical-looking  Mr.  Bell  softly, 
"a  dripping  roast  that  will  provide  a  banquet  for  the 
faithful.  But,  my  brethren,  such  things  are  hard  to 
come  by." 

Callaghan  leaned  forward  impressively,  his  hands 
on  the  arms  of  his  chair. 

"My  friends,"  he  said  with  an  air  of  gentle  triumph, 
"I  have  it  ready  for  you!  A  magnificent  coup — 
safe,  profitable,  and  almost  inexhaustible.  A  sponge 
—  "he  made  a  grasping  gesture  with  his  large  white 
hand — "a  sponge  which,  artistically  but  ruthlessly 
squeezed,  will  exude  such  a  river  of  gold  as  you  never 
dreamed  of!"  He  licked  his  thin  lips.  "A  trick  of 
fortune  has  placed  it  within  my  reach,  and  yours. 
It  is  the  chance  of  a  lifetime!" 

There  was  a  ring  in  Callaghan 's  tone  that  was  like 
a  summons  to  battle.  The  others  gathered  round 
him  eagerly. 

"Chief,"  said  Drummond  admiringly.  "This 
sounds  like  business." 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Vaille.  "A  bank?  A  com- 
pany? A  rich  man  with  a  secret  that  would  ruin 
him?" 

"It  is  better  than  any  of  these,"  said  Mr.  Calla- 
ghan softly.  "It  is  a  woman." 

The  others  glanced  at  each  other.  Their  satis- 
faction increased.  Mr.  Callaghan  rubbed  his  hands 
together  gently. 

"My   friends,"   he   said,    "there   is   nothing   so 


THE  LATE  LAMENTED  9 

profitable  as  a  woman — properly  handled.  A 
woman  has  fewer  defences  than  a  man.  And  she  is 
much  more  marketable.  Now  listen  to  me,  and  you 
shall  hear  what  this  heaven-sent  source  of  income  is." 

He  lifted  a  finger  and  pointed  to  the  portrait  over 
the  fire-place. 

"You  know  many  things.  But  does  any  one  of 
you  know  who  Slim  Jim  really  was?  His  name, 
and  his  origin?" 

There  was  silence. 

"You  do  not.  You  know  half  a  dozen  aliases 
that  fitted  him,  but  as  to  who  the  man  was,  you  are 
all  ignorant.  I  believe  I  am  the  only  person  living 
that  does  know,  and  I  will  tell  you." 

Mr.  Callaghan  leaned  forward  in  his  chair. 

"His  name,  on  the  birth-registers  of  his  county,  is 
William  Travers  Tallbois,  and  were  he  living  at  this 
moment  he  would  be  a  peer  of  England,  with  an 
estate  and  over  a  million  sterling."  Mr.  Callaghan 
paused  impressively,  and  his  voice  dropped.  "He 
leaves  behind  him  a  daughter — an  only  child." 

There  was  a  stir  of  amazement  among  the  partners. 
Vaille's  eyes  grew  dark  with  excitement. 

"Is  she  the  woman,  Chief!"  he  exclaimed. 

"She  is  the  woman,"  said  Callaghan  softly,  "of 
whom  I  spoke." 

A  flash  of  understanding  came  into  the  eyes  of  the 
four.  Mr.  Callaghan  saw  it,  and  smiled  succulently. 

"Is  it  not  stupendous,  gentlemen?"  he  said  in 
gentle  tones.  "You  see  the  immense  possibilities 
that  lie  before  us !  That  you  may  comprehend  fully 


io     THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

I  will  give  you,  very  briefly,  a  snapshot  history  of 
Slim  Jim  and  his  daughter." 

Mr.  Callaghan  took  off  his  spectacles,  holding 
them  in  his  fingers  and  emphasizing  his  points  with 
them. 

"William  Travers  Tallbois,  born  1877,  was  a 
second  cousin  of  the  ninth  Viscount  Tallbois  of 
Knayth.  In  his  twenty-first  year,  William,  then  far 
removed  from  any  hope  of  the  title,  disgraced  himself 
utterly,  in  London.  He  was  shipped  to  Florida  by 
his  family,  who  hoped  they  had  seen  the  last  of  him. 
His  ship  went  down,  twenty  miles  off  Key  West. 
William  was  not  among  the  survivors.  The  news  of 
his  death  was  received  with  resignation  by  his  family. 
And  so  William  Tallbois  passes  from  history." 

Mr.  Callaghan  took  an  appreciative  sip  of  his  port, 
and  continued: 

"I  believe  no  one  living  but  myself  knows  the  true 
facts.  William  Tallbois  was  not  drowned.  He  was 
picked  up  by  a  coaster,  landed  in  Florida,  sunk  his 
identity,  and  became  a  wanderer  on  the  face  of  the 
earth.  He  developed  his  inbred  talents,  and  in  the 
course  of  years  became  the  brilliant  scoundrel  whom 
we  all  knew  and  admired — Slim  Jim  Carey. 

"Soon  after  his  arrival  in  America,  Slim  Jim 
married.  Marriage  was  a  recurring  weakness  of  his. 
His  earliest  experiment,  perhaps,  was  at  Calcarth, 
South  Georgia,  where  he  married  a  woman  named 
Lloyd.  She  died,  after  giving  birth  to  a  daughter. 
That  daughter  still  lives. 

"The  child  was  taken  charge  of  by  one  Janet 
Mackellar,  a  'school-marm'  in  a  back-blocks  settle- 


THE  LATE  LAMENTED  11 

ment — a  hard,  dour,  upright  woman.  She  was 
greatly  attached  to  the  child.  So  was  Slim  Jim. 
I  think  she  was  the  only  living  creature  he  ever  loved 
or  respected.  At  intervals  of  his  career  he  would 
return  and  visit  her.  He  dared  only  do  so  under  an 
alias — Georgia  was  too  hot  to  hold  him.  The  child 
— his  own  child — did  not  know  him  as  father,  but 
called  him  'uncle.'  These  are  the  little  penalties  of 
our  profession. 

"And  so  the  child  grew  to  be  a  woman.  Janet 
Mackellar  must  always  have  suspected  Slim  Jim's 
trade.  She  hated  and  feared  him.  Discovering 
the  truth  about  him  one  day,  she  disappeared,  tak- 
ing the  girl  with  her.  They  came  to  Charleston,  and 
afterwards  to  London." 

"To  London?"  exclaimed  Drummond. 

Mr.  Callaghan  nodded. 

"By  then,  the  girl  was  seventeen.  Jim  tried  to 
trace  them,  and  failed.  The  outbreak  of  war  pre- 
vented him.  Badly  wanted  by  the  English  police, 
Slim  Jim  enlisted  in  the  Foreign  Legion  of  France — 
either  to  escape  arrest,  or  with  some  absurd  idea  that 
he  was  called  upon  to  fight  for  his  country  because 
others  were  doing  so — some  curious  kink  in  his  mind, 
which  this  super-rascal  called  his  honour.  He  served 
four  years,  and  was  killed  in  the  Argonne  just  before 
the  final  advance.  The  girl,"  said  Callaghan  slowly, 
"is  now  in  this  city." 

The  others  were  about  to  break  out  with  a  clamour 
of  eager  questions,  but  Callaghan  held  up  his  hand. 

"Wait!"  he  said;  "that  you  may  understand  fully 
the  superb  opportunity  that  lies  ready  to  our  hands, 


12      THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

I  will  read  you  a  brief  item  from  this  same  newspaper 
that  records  the  demise  of  our  comrade." 

Once  more  Mr.  Callaghan  unfolded  the  evening 
paper. 

DEATH  OF  LORD  TALLBOIS 

"  Viscount  Tallbois  died  last  night  at  Knayth  Abbey, 
aged  eighty-three,  after  a  brief  illness. 

"  The  deceased  peer  was  9th  Viscount  Tallbois  of 
Knayth  and  22d  Baron  Knayth,  in  the  peerage  of 
England.  In  his  youth  he  served  in  the  Army,  but  for 
many  years  has  lived  quietly  as  a  country  gentleman. 

"Knayth  Abbey,  a  superb  Tudor  house,  overlooking 
the  Thames  Valley  near  Clievemead,  Berkshire,  is  well- 
known  as  the  chief  show-place  in  the  county.  The 
income  from  the  estates  is  very  large,  and  is  understood 
to  be  entailed. 

"There  appears,  however,  to  be  no  heir.  Viscount 
Tallbois  leaves  no  children,  and  his  three  nephews  fell 
in  the  Great  War.  Thus  an  ancient  and  historic  house 
comes  to  an  end." 

Mr.  Callaghan  laid  down  the  paper.  A  little 
gurgling  laugh  of  satisfaction  broke  from  him. 

' '  For  once,  the  Press  slips  up ! "  he  said.  ' '  Gentle- 
men, let  us  congratulate  our  Old  Nobility.  There  is 
still  a  claimant  to  the  glories  of  Knayth — the  only 
child  of  our  late  lamented  comrade,  Slim  Jim.  Were 
he  living  now,  the  gallows  would  stand  between  him 
and  his  estates.  But  the  title  descends  in  the  female 
line!  The  girl  is  Viscountess  Tallbois  of  Knayth 
with  £70,000  a  year — the  daughter  of  a  dead  thief!" 

There  was  a  swift  burst  of  applause  from  the  four. 


THE  LATE  LAMENTED  13 

"Chief!"  exclaimed  Vaille,  his  eyes  bright  with 
greed.  "We're  on  the  biggest  coup  in  history! 
Have  you  the  proofs?" 

"Complete!"  said  Callaghan,  "and  beyond 
question.  We  shall  sell  them — at  a  price.  A  price 
that  will  tax  even  the  Tallbois  estate.  We  shall  set 
this  jail-bird  princess  on  her  throne,  and  then,  since 
we  alone  know  her  dead  father's  record,  we've  got 
her  in  a  net  from  which  there's  no  escape." 

Drummond  laughed  unpleasantly. 

"I  am  glad  that  I  am  not  a  woman,"  he  said 
suavely,  "and  still  more  glad  that  I  am  not  our  late 
friend's  daughter.  She  knows,  obviously,  nothing 
whatever  of  her  identity  or  her  claim,  nor  does  the 
good  Janet.  But  do  you  yourself  know  even  the 
name  that  the  girl  passes  under?  Can  you  find  her? 
London  is  a  big  place." 

"In  a  few  days,"  said  Callaghan  with  brisk  con- 
fidence, "we  shall  lay  our  hands  on  her.  My  plans 
are  already  made.  I  have  clues  to  Janet  Mackellar; 
we  have  but  to  find  Janet,  and  we've  got  the  girl — 
who,  moreover,  has  to  earn  her  living  and  will  be  en- 
gaged in  some  sort  of  clerical  work,  as  I  know  already. 
That  narrows  the  search.  Above  all  I  have  one  in- 
valuable clue,  which  I  obtained  from  Jim  Carey — 
without  his  knowledge.  The  girl's  photograph, 
taken  a  year  or  two  back.  Here  it  is." 

The  other  men  pressed  round  eagerly  to  view  it. 

The  photograph  showed  a  girl  of  about  eighteen. 
Her  eyes  were  large  and  dark,  with  a  strangely  wist- 
ful, appealing  expression.  She  looked  little  more 
than  a  child.  The  face  was  delicately  beautiful,  but 


14     THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

the  full,  tender  curve  of  the  lips  gave  promise  of 
hidden  passion  that  would  develop  with  the  years. 
It  was  an  elfin  face — such  a  face  as  men  see  in  the 
garden  of  dreams. 

"Nothing  of  Slim  Jim  there!"  said  Vaille,  "and 
yet — I  don't  know.  Those  eyes ' 

"  No,  no ! "  said  Mr.  Bell  softly.  ' '  Tender— honest 
— virginal — and  poor.  All  the  qualities,  Chief, 
which  we  most  wish  to  find. ' '  He  chuckled,  and  took 
the  photograph  in  his  fat  white  hands.  The  dress 
was  cheap  and  unbecoming,  yet  not  tawdry. 

"A  bit  of  stuff  that  might  have  been  made  for  us," 
said  Slaney,  licking  his  lips.  "And  now,  Chief — 
what  orders?" 

"You,  Vaille,"  said  Mr.  Callaghan,  "will  take  that 
photo,  make  four  copies,  and  start  your  search  at 
once  on  lines  I  shall  lay  down  for  you.  Drammond, 
you  will  make  your  task  the  tracing  of  Janet  Mackellar, 
and  there  also  I  am  able  to  put  you  on  a  scent.  I  my- 
self will  investigate  actively."  He  turned  to  Slaney. 

"For  you,  Slaney,  I  have  a  much  more  specialized 
r61e.  I  shall  obtain  you  a  man-servant's  situation 
at  Knayth  Abbey,  which  you  will  take  up  forthwith. 
It  is  a  little  difficult,  as  they  are  now  reducing  their 
staff,  but  I  have  had  this  in  view  some  time ;  I  have 
arranged  an  opening  there  for  you.  Your  task  will 
be  to  possess  yourself  of  all  possible  inside  informa- 
tion concerning  the  Tallbois  family  and  the  Knayth 
household  before  it  breaks  up.  You  will  hold  the 
inner  line  of  communications." 

"It's  a  job  that's  just  made  for  me,  Chief,"  said 
Slaney,  rubbing  his  hands,  "I  shall  fairly  eat  it!" 


THE  LATE  LAMENTED  15 

"You  will  not  forget,"  said  Mr.  Callaghan  coldly, 
"that  you  are  a  gentleman's  gentleman.  And  Lord 
help  you,"  he  added  with  a  steely  flash  in  his  eyes, 
"if  you  fail  me!  Now,  my  friends,  to  work." 

"Wait,  Chief!"  said  Drummond  eagerly,  "you've 
not  settled  the  plan.  Surely  one  thing  stands  out 
like  a  beacon — one  of  us  ought  to  corner  the  girl  and 
marry  her  before  an  inkling  of  all  this  comes  out! 
Make  sure  of  her.  It's  a  chance  in  a  million.  And 
easy  enough,"  he  said  gently,  "for  one  of  this  party." 

' '  You  see  yourself  enthroned  at  Knay th,  as  Prince 
Consort,  eh?"  sneered  Vaille. 

"No!"  said  Callaghan  sharply,  and  he  struck  the 
table  with  his  fist.  "  I  absolutely  forbid  that !  It  is 
no  part  of  the  plan.  Cast  it  from  your  minds.  And 
mark  you  this!"  he  said,  thrusting  his  head  forward, 
"the  man  who  married  that  girl  would  make  the 
poorest  bargain  in  London!  He  would  find  himself 
left." 

There  was  dead  silence. 

"I  have  a  second  coup  in  view,"  said  Callaghan 
slowly,  "when  the  first  is  accomplished.  A  coup 
that  will  come  as  a  thunderbolt,  and  will  enrich 
us  beyond  anything  you  dream  of  getting  from  this 
first  campaign.  But  until  the  time  comes,  I  shall 
keep  that  strictly  to  myself.  Your  part  is  to  obey ! " 

"The  Chief's  right,"  said  Vaille  after  a  pause,  "the 
game's  in  his  hands.  We  want  no  bungling.  Before 
the  week's  out  we'll  get  hold  of  this  charming  young 
person." 

"Remembering  always,"  said  Callaghan,  "that  her 
life  is  our  greatest  and  most  profitable  asset.  We 


16     THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

have  to  preserve  and  protect  it,"  he  added  benevo. 
lently,  "against  all  things  untoward." 

"But  her  name — her  honour — her  innocence — 
murmured  Vaille  ironically  as  he  filled  his  glass. 

Mr.  Callaghan's  mobile  lips  drew  back  in  a  smile 
that  showed  two  long  eye-teeth. 

"All  these  we  shall  assess  at  their  market  value," 
he  said  gently. 


CHAPTER  II 

A  CASE  IN  CHAMBERS 

THE  click  and  rattle  of  twenty  typewriters  echoed 
through  the  long,  hot  room.  An  intrusive  sunbeam, 
shooting  through  an  upper  window,  gilded  the  heads 
of  the  girls  as  they  bent  over  the  keyboards,  and  lit 
up  their  hair.  A  marvellous  diversity  of  hair — 
chestnut,  yellow,  black,  peroxide-blonde,  and  in  one 
case,  flaming  red. 

On  the  street  windows  was  the  legend,  whimsically 
reversed  when  seen  backwards  through  the  panes : 

PUTTOCK  &   COPES 
LAW  &  COMMERCIAL  TYPEWRITING 

Joan  Ayre,  the  youngest  of  Miss  Puttock's  employ- 
ees, sat  at  the  end  of  the  farther  row,  her  fingers 
tapping  the  keys  of  a  Remington  with  dizzy  speed. 
She  was  not  only  the  youngest,  but  the  prettiest  girl 
in  the  room. 

It  was  a  charming,  tender  little  face  that  bent  over 
the  machine;  a  face  of  a  perfect  oval,  with  a  clear, 
rather  pale  skin  that  heightened  the  redness  of  the 
curved  lips.  Her  fingers  were  very  slender  and 
white.  Her  bright  brown  hair  was  drawn  back  too 
tightly,  plaited  in  a  neat  but  unattractive  mat  at  the 
back  of  her  head;  her  blouse  was  of  stiff  linen,  very 

17 


18     THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

plain  beside  the  startling  confections  worn  by  the 
more  dashing  employees  of  Puttock  &  Copes. 

Presently  Joan  ceased  typing  and  sat  back  with  a 
little  sigh.  A  wistful,  pensive  expression  came  over 
her  face,  as  though  something  had  happened  which 
was  puzzling  her.  She  fell  into  a  brief  day-dream. 
But  day-dreams  are  not  permitted  in  typing-offices, 
and  the  harsh  voice  of  her  employer  called  her  back 
to  the  present. 

"Miss  Ayre!  Come  here,  please,  and  take  Mr. 
Mottisfont's  instructions." 

Joan  rose  hastily  and  crossed  to  the  desk  where 
stood  the  angular  Miss  Puttock,  beside  a  valued 
customer  who  had  just  entered. 

His  arrival  was  greeted  by  a  slight  pause  in  the 
rattle  of  the  machines,  for  most  of  the  girls  glanced 
up  from  their  work.  Philip  Mottisfont,  barrister- 
at-law,  was  so  strikingly  good-looking,  and  almost 
miraculously  well-dressed.  His  clothes  sat  upon 
him  naturally,  like  the  hide  on  a  thoroughbred 
horse. 

He  was  tall  and  well-built,  his  features  finely  cut, 
his  age  not  more  than  thirty ;  short,  yellow-gold  hair 
with  a  crisp  ripple  over  the  temples  made  him  look 
younger  still.  His  eyes  were  light  blue  and  frankly 
supercilious,  with  an  expression  that  bade  his  fellow- 
creatures  stand  aloof.  They  were  mitigated  by  a 
sensitive  mouth. 

Joan  glanced  at  him  a  little  timidly,  and  her  pale 
cheeks  became  faintly  pink.  Mr.  Mottisfont  greeted 
her  with  a  pleasant  smile. 

"It  is  a  shame  to  drive  you  like  this,  Miss  Ayre," 


A  CASE  IN  CHAMBERS  19 

he  said  apologetically,  "but  no  one  else  types  my 
work  so  well  as  you;  you  understand  just  what  I 
want.  It  is  urgently  needed  by  six  o'clock.  Can 
you  manage  it?" 

As  they  bent  their  heads  over  the  brief  while 
Mottisfont  explained  his  needs,  Joan  Ayre  was  con- 
scious of  a  curious  thrill  of  pleasure.  Once  their 
hands  touched,  accidentally,  while  turning  over  the 
pages.  She  was  faintly  confused,  conscious  that  her 
heart  was  beating  faster. 

"There  is  a  great  deal  of  it,"  murmured  Joan,  "but 
I  will  get  it  through  in  time." 

They  both  looked  up  from  the  desk,  and  were  fac- 
ing each  other.  For  a  moment  Mottisfont  did  not 
reply.  He  was  gazing  straight  into  the  girl's  eyes — 
wonderful  eyes,  a  deep,  vivid  violet. 

"Thank  you  so  much,"  he  said  smiling,  "I  know  I 
can  always  rely  on  you." 

He  made  her  a  courteous  bow,  and  left  the  room. 
Joan  sat  down  at  her  desk.  Almost  unconsciously 
despite  herself,  her  eyes  followed  the  tall,  command- 
ing figure  that  passed  out  through  the  door.  Then 
quickly  she  bent  to  the  work  he  had  given  her  and 
began  to  type  at  a  bewildering  pace. 

There  was  another  girl  in  the  room  whose  gaze 
followed  Mottisfont 's  exist;  her  hair  was  flaming  red, 
and  she  watched  him  go  with  a  sullen,  baleful  stare. 

Mottisfont  was  quite  unconscious  of  it.  Always  a 
brisk  mover,  he  was  already  clear  of  Temple  Cham- 
bers, and  with  a  swinging  stride  passed  under  the  old 
gate  into  the  Temple  Gardens.  A  few  minutes' 
walk  brought  him  to  his  chambers  in  Fountain  Court ; 


20     THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

he  opened  the  oak  with  his  latch-key  and  entered  the 
front  room. 

There  were  no  more  luxurious  rooms  in  the  whole 
Temple.  Mottisfont's  taste  was  admirably  refined. 
Several  exhibition  pieces  of  Jacobean  furniture  stood 
round  the  panelled  walls,  that  were  hung  with  old 
prints,  gems  of  their  kind.  A  wealth  of  flowers 
brightened  the  room,  a  thick  Turkey  carpet  covered 
the  floor.  An  antique  bureau  held  a  library  of  law 
books  bound  in  fine  calf;  on  a  little  stand  was  a 
barrister's  wig.  Mottisfont  opened  a  drawer,  and 
spread  a  brief  on  the  window-table,  making  ready  to 
work. 

But  for  a  moment  he  hesitated,  staring  thought- 
fully before  him  through  the  window.  Mottisfont, 
the  most  brilliant  of  the  younger  men  at  the  Bar, 
pointed  to  already  as  a  man  with  his  feet  well  on  the 
lower  rungs  of  the  ladder  of  Fame,  seemed  to  be 
seized  with  a  rare  indecision  of  mind.  The  vision  of  a 
gentle,  wistful  face  and  two  deep  violet  eyes  floated 
before  his  own,  and  held  him  like  a  talisman. 

"How  charming  she  is,"  he  said  to  himself,  "and 
— how  amazingly  dowdy!  Yet  I've  never  seen,  in 
my  own  world,  a  woman  to  compare  with  her !  Why 
do  I  take  my  typing  to  that  place  every  time  ?  Is  it 
just  for  the  chance  of  seeing  and  speaking  to  her  ? " 

He  shook  himself,  and  laughed  grimly. 

"Ambition — the  rocky,  upward  path!  Let  me 
have  done  with  this  folly.  If  ever  I  marry,  and  I've 
little  enough  will  to  that,  it  must  be  to  a  partner  of 
some  wealth  and  position — one  who  can  help  me  on 
the  way  up,  not  a  drag  upon  my  feet."  He  sighed 


A  CASE  IN  CHAMBERS  21 

a  little  wearily,  then  suddenly  tightened  his  lips  and 
sat  down  to  his  work. 

For  two  hours  he  applied  himself  strenuously  to  the 
brief,  making  notes,  working  with  the  swift,  keen 
grasp  of  a  difficult  problem  that  was  natural  to  him. 
A  man-servant  in  neat  black  livery — a  rare  thing  in 
the  Temple,  where  charwomen  known  as  "laun- 
dresses" are  usually  the  inefficient  hand-maidens — 
came  in  and  laid  tea,  setting  a  rare  old  silver  urn  on 
the  snowy  cloth,  and  piling  abright  fire  with  cedar  logs. 

Both  the  inner  door  and  the  oak  stood  open. 
There  was  a  ring  at  the  bell,  and  Philip,  rising 
quickly,  saw  Joan  Ayre  standing  at  the  entrance 
with  a  package. 

"Is  that  the  work,  Miss  Ayre?"  he  exclaimed, 
' '  thank  you  so  much.  Come  in,  won't  you  ? ' ' 

Joan  walked  in  simply  and  without  hesitation. 
The  charm  of  the  room  and  the  flowers  filled  her 
with  wonder. 

"Miss  Puttock  told  me  to  bring  you  the  stuff  di- 
rectly it  was  ready,"  she  said. 

"Splendid!  But  what  a  shame  to  make  you  run 
errands.  Let  me  give  you  some  tea,"  he  said,  pour- 
ing her  out  a  cup.  The  man-servant  gave  a  sidelong 
glance  at  Philip  and  left  the  room,  closing  the  door 
silently. 

"It's  complete,"  said  Joan,  laying  down  the  pack- 
age, "I  hope  you'll  find  it  in  order." 

"Your  work  is  sure  to  be  in  perfect  order,"  he  said, 
smiling.  "I'm  very  grateful  to  you.  It  was  a  big  job. ' ' 

Again,  as  they  faced  each  other,  Joan  felt  a  flutter 
at  her  heart.  Mottisfont  was  looking  at  her  with 


22     THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

extraordinary  intentness.  And  then,  for  a  moment, 
the  cool  and  self-contained  barrister  seemed  to  lose 
his  head.  He  stepped  towards  her  suddenly  with 
hands  outstretched,  and  a  look  in  his  eyes  such  as 
Joan  had  seen  in  the  eyes  of  men  before.  She 
stepped  back,  and  her  face  flamed  as  though  she  had 
been  struck. 

Mottisfont  stopped  dead.  His  cheeks  reddened, 
and  his  hands  dropped  slowly  to  his  sides. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said  humbly,  and  a  little 
hoarsely.  "Forgive  me.  I — I  thought  you  looked 
tired." 

Joan  lifted  her  chin,  and  raised  her  eyes  to  his  with 
a  steady,  cool  gaze. 

"It  is  no  hardship  for  me  to  be  tired,"  she  said 
quietly.  ' '  I  have  to  work  for  my  living,  you  see. " 

Joan  seemed  quite  unlike  her  customary  timid  self. 
She  gave  him  an  extraordinarily  dignified  little  bow, 
and  turning,  left  the  chambers  without  a  word. 
Philip  remained  standing  motionless  by  the  table, 
his  only  company  the  cup  of  untasted  tea. 

On  the  staircase  Joan  was  hurrying  downwards,  a 
stifled  sob  in  her  throat,  and  her  eyes  were  misty. 
Reaching  the  Embankment  she  boarded  a  tram,  and 
in  half-an-hour  was  in  the  dingy  bed-sitting-room,  on 
a  top  floor  south  of  the  water,  which  she  called  home. 
It  contained  a  rickety  table,  two  cheap  chairs,  and 
two  iron  bedsteads  behind  a  rough  curtain. 

Joan  was  calmer  when  she  reached  this  refuge. 
She  stood  by  the  window  and  reflected.  A  doubt 
came  into  her  mind — had  she  made  a  mistake? 
Joan  was  utterly  inexperienced.  Had  Mr.  Mottis- 


A  CASE  IN  CHAMBERS  23 

font  really  thought  that  she  might  fall?  She  was 
very  tired — she  remembered  feeling  strangely  dizzy. 
Had  she  merely  made  a  fool  of  herself  by  her  indig- 
nation? If  so,  what  must  he  think  of  her?  Her 
cheeks  flushed. 

"Am  I  so  vulgar,"  she  said  aloud,  "that  I  see 
vulgarity  where  there  is  none?  He  would  not 
attempt  such  a  thing.  He  is  a  gentleman." 

"Who's  a  gentleman ! "  said  a  sharp,  Cockney  voice 
as  the  door  swung  open.  The  red-haired  girl  from 
Puttock  &  Copes  entered  briskly.  She  took  off  her 
poppy-covered  hat  and  slung  it  on  the  bed.  "Thank 
goodness  we've  done  with  the  rotten  office  till  Tuesday 
—hooray !  Now  for  a  beano !  Why  didn't  you  wait 
for  me,  old  dear?" 

Most  of  the  young  ladies  at  Puttock  &  Copes 
regarded  Emmie  Clegg  as  "low."  She  was  short, 
with  an  ample  figure,  hard,  humorous  eyes,  an 
impudent  little  retrousse  nose,  and  was  violent  in  her 
speech.  But  Joan  had  no  sense  of  social  values  at 
all.  She  loved  Emmie  for  the  absurdly  inadequate 
reason  that  Emmie  had  shown  her  both  affection  and 
kindness,  and  had  obtained  her  the  berth  at  Puttock's 
when  she  was  without  work  or  money.  The  girls 
lived  together. 

"I  had  to  deliver  some  work,  Emmie;  I  couldn't 
stop,"  said  Joan. 

Emmie  frowned  suddenly. 

' '  Work  ? "  she  said.  ' '  Where  to  ?  Not  to  Mottis- 
font's?"  She  glanced  quickly  at  the  clock,  and  then 
at  her  friend.  "Joan,  you  didn't  go  into  his  rooms!" 
she  said  sharply,  with  a  note  of  alarm. 


24     THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

' '  I  delivered  the  work, ' '  said  Joan  quietly.  Emmie 
stepped  right  up  to  her. 

"What  are  you  blushin'  like  that  for!  What  were 
you  talking  to  yourself  about,  when  I  come  in?  A 
'gentleman, '  you  said — I  heard  you !  A  gentleman ! ' ' 
repeated  Emmie  with  extraordinary  bitterness.  "I 
hate  him  an'  all  his  tribe!  They  looks  on  such  as 
us  as  dirt  under  their  feet — or  worse!  Mottisfont! 
Good-lookin',  an'  knows  it — and  a  swell!  If  ever 
I  see  you  talkin'  to  him,  I'll  come  an'  drag  you  out 
of  it  by  the  hair  of  your  head !  You're  so  simple  you 
barely  know  your  right  hand  from  your  left ! " 

An  amazing  fury  took  possession  of  Emmie.  Her 
flaming  hair  shook. 

"Look  at  me,  Joan!"  she  said,  flinging  wide  her 
arms.  "I  ain't  much  to  look  at  now.  But  if  I  told 
you  how  a  swell  once  treated  me,  the  hearin'  of  it 
would  turn  you  sick!  Some  day  you  shall  know." 
Her  voice  shook .  ' '  Swells ! ' ' 

Her  voice  became  hoarse. 

"Listen  to  me,  while  I  talk  straight!"  she  cried, 
putting  her  hands  on  Joan's  shoulders.  "Mottis- 
font isn't  our  class.  I'd  sooner  kill  you  than  see  you 
friendly  with  him  or  his  lot.  No  good  comes  of  that. 
It  only  leads  to — rottenness." 

Joan,  very  white,  sank  into  a  chair.  The  two  girls 
stared  at  each  other.  Suddenly  Emmie's  voice 
broke,  she  fell  on  her  knees  beside  Joan,  and  put  both 
her  arms  round  her. 

"I'm  sorry,  Joan,"  said  Emmie,  nearly  crying,  "I 
don't  know  what's  the  matter  with  me.  You  aren't 
angry  with  me,  are  you?  Say  you  aren't  angry!" 


A  CASE  IN  CHAMBERS  25 

"Angry  with  you  dear!"  said  Joan  softly,  and 
kissed  her.  "Of  course  not." 

Emmie  snuffled,  and  passed  a  sleeve  over  one  eye. 

"That's  just  the  darling  you  are,  Joan.  Any 
other  girl'd  have  told  me  to  mind  my  own  business, 
an'  turned  me  off." 

She  stood  up. 

' '  Forgive  me,  Joan.  And  look  here,  you're  coming 
up  the  river  with  me  tonight.  It's  Bank  holiday 
week.  Three  whole  days  at  Clievemead,  that  we've 
saved  up  for!" 

Joan  brightened.  Green  trees  and  running  water, 
after  the  hot,  drab  city ! 

"My  Ted'll  be  there  too.  And  Alf,  to  take  us  on 
the  river.  Ah,  Alf's  a  fine  chap!  That's  the  sort 
you  could  do  with.  Lively,  jolly,  makin'  good 
money  at  his  uncle's  shop,  an'  plays  the  concertina 
like  an  angel.  Hear  him  sing  'It's  the  Seasoning 
what  does  it!'  in  the  New  Cut  of  a  Saturday  night! 
A  man  to  be  proud  of — an'  there  ain't  anything  he 
wouldn't  do  for  you,  Joan.  Come  on,  an'  let's  get 
ready  for  a  good  time." 

Joan's  face  fell  a  little.  The  thought  of  Mr.  Alf 
Blodmore  did  not  seem  to  attract.  She  sat  silent. 
Did  she  wish  to  leave  town,  after  all?  Once  more 
she  seemed  to  see  the  sunny  ripple  of  hair  over 
Mottisfont's  ears,  the  masterful  poise  of  his  head, 
the  firm  lips  that  smiled  so  charmingly. 

"Joan!"  called  Emmie  shrilly  from  behind  the 
curtain,  "aren't  you  goin'  to  pack?  Train  leaves 
Waterloo  in  an  hour!" 


CHAPTER   III 

THE  WORTH  FROCK 

If  I  were  the  ownly  girl  in  the  world 

An'  you  were  the  ownly  boy; 

I  would  sy  such  wonderful  things  to  you  .  .  . ! 

THE  strains  of  a  squeaky  concertina  accompanied 
the  song.  The  Honourable  Hilda  Detchmere  shud- 
dered. "The  common,  or  river  bounder,"  she  said 
acidly,  "is  the  most  detestable  of  all  animals.  Look 
at  those  ghastly  people  in  the  skiff." 

"Well,  don't  look  at  them,  my  dear  Hilda," 
chuckled  Philip  Mottisfont,  settling  himself  com- 
fortably in  his  deck-chair.  "Watch  the  sunset 
instead." 

Save  for  the  song,  a  golden  peace  brooded  over 
the  Thames.  A  group  of  serene  and  happy-looking 
people  sat  under  the  upper  awnings  of  Lady 
Dunluce's  house-boat  Lethe — a  leviathan  of  a  house- 
boat, double-decked,  perfectly  appointed,  and  softly 
brilliant  with  flowers.  It  was  moored  to  the  bank 
near  a  grove  of  willows.  The  air  was  hot  and  still, 
the  westering  sun  dipped  behind  purple  hills,  and 
filled  the  sky  with  glory.  The  river  rolled  calm  and 
glassy  in  the  after-glow. 

The  music  came  from  a  hired  two-pair  skiff  that 
was  wobbling  ignobly  down  mid-stream,  pulled  with 

26 


THE  WORTH  FROCK  27 

splashing  strokes  by  a  loudly  dressed  young  man. 
A  red-haired  girl  lounged  in  the  bows,  voluptuously 
eating  greengages  and  flipping  the  stones  at  the  oars- 
man. On  the  after-thwart  another  Cockney  youth, 
in  a  Leander  blazer  and  a  boating-straw  with  the 
Guards'  colours,  tortured  the  concertina  and  sang 
in  a  nasal  sentimental  voice  to  a  maiden  in  pink,  who 
sat  in  the  stern-sheets  looking  unhappy. 

"People  like  that,"  said  a  young  man  on  the  house- 
boat languidly,  "want  drowning." 

Mottisfont  sprang  from  his  chair  with  a  sharp 
exclamation. 

Two  of  the  people  in  the  skiff  had  suddenly  elected 
to  change  places.  The  man  with  the  concertina 
helped  the  girl  in  pink  to  her  feet.  At  that  moment 
the  oarsman  caught  a  violent  "crab"  and  fell  back- 
wards ;  the  girl  in  pink  was  thrown  off  her  balance  by 
the  lurch,  and  fell  with  a  splash  into  the  river.  The 
whole  thing  happened  in  a  moment. 

The  boat  shot  half-a-dozen  yards  ahead.  The 
oarsman  struggled  frantically  to  get  up,  the  red- 
haired  girl  screamed.  The  concertina  player,  with  a 
face  of  terror,  launched  himself  headlong  to  the 
rescue  of  the  struggling  girl,  and  soused  into  the 
water  with  a  mighty  splash.  He  came  up,  yards 
short  of  her,  and  began  to  flounder  helplessly  and  to 
swallow  large  gulps  of  the  river. 

Mottisfont  tore  off  his  jacket  in  a  twinkling. 

"As  old  Horace  has  it: — 'Strange  monsters  in  the 
vasty  deep ! ' "  he  exclaimed,  and  with  a  laugh  vaulted 
over  the  rail  and  plunged  in  with  a  clean  dive.  He 
shot  to  the  surface  and  swam  out  with  a  swinging 


28     THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

over-arm  stroke — cool,  swift,  and  efficient.  In  a  few 
moments  he  had  covered  the  fifty  yards  and  reached 
the  struggling  girl.  She  felt  a  firm  hand  supporting 
her,  and  a  calm,  steady  voice  at  her  ear. 

"Don't  struggle!  You're  as  safe  as  a  house — I've 
got  you.  Just  keep  like  that." 

Philip,  treading  water  as  he  supported  the  girl, 
turned  to  see  if  the  other  sufferer  required  him.  But 
the  boat  had  managed  to  reach  the  concertina  player 
somehow,  and  its  crew,  seeing  the  girl  was  in  safe 
hands,  devoted  themselves  to  the  distressed  musician. 
They  were  hauling  him  in  like  a  sack ;  the  red-headed 
girl,  lamenting  loudly,  had  her  fingers  twined  in  his 
hair. 

"That's  all  right,"  chuckled  Philip,  and  then  to  his 
charge.  "Just  lay  your  head  back — I'll  get  you 
ashore.  You're  in  no  danger." 

The  dazed  girl  ceased  struggling  and  gave  herself 
up  to  Fate.  Before  she  knew  what  had  happened 
she  was  at  the  house-boat's  gangway,  and  strong 
arms  helped  her  out.  She  found  herself,  drenched 
and  limp,  with  wisps  of  wet  hair  over  her  eyes,  stand- 
ing amid  a  group  of  well-dressed  and  frankly  amused 
strangers.  Philip  Mottisfont,  streaming  like  a 
soaked  retriever,  for  the  first  time  looked  straight  at 
her.  He  gave  a  startled  exclamation. 

"Why,  it's  Miss  Ayre!" 

Joan,  for  it  was  no  other,  raised  her  eyes  to  his  with 
a  faint  gasp.  She  looked  utterly  lost. 

' '  How  good  you  have  been ! ' '  she  stammered.  ' '  I 
— I  don't  know  what  happened.  Please,  I  must  get 
back  to  the  boat " 


THE  WORTH  FROCK  29 

' '  Out  of  the  question ! ' '  said  a  pleasant,  elderly  lady 
with  a  commanding  air.  "You  will  stay  here,  my 
girl,  till  we  find  you  some  dry  things.  Douglas! 
Send  those  people  away.  The  man  can  look  after 
himself." 

"Boat,  there!"  hailed  the  young  man  addressed 
as  Douglas.  "You  can  carry  on.  We'll  look  after 
your  ah — friend!  Pity  they  don't  keep  such  riff- 
raff off  the  river,"  he  added  in  a  contemptuous  under- 
tone. 

The  crew  of  the  skiff,  who  had  hauled  their 
dripping  musician  on  board,  hesitated,  and  then 
moved  dismally  away,  Emmie  Clegg — who  was  the 
red-haired  girl — anxiously  shouting  something  that 
did  not  reach  the  ears  of  Joan.  And  Joan  herself 
was  taken  by  the  arm  and  led,  protesting  and  still 
dazed,  into  the  interior  of  the  house-boat. 

"The  first  thing  you  need,"  said  Joan's  guide,  a 
remarkably  pretty  girl  with  mischievous  grey-blue 
eyes,  "is  a  hot  bath.  Here  you  are.  I'll  find  some 
clothes  for  you.  Not  a  word  till  you  come  out  again. 
And  don't  thank  me!" 

Joan  found  herself  pushed  into  a  small  but  luxuri- 
ous bathroom. 

"Where  in  the  world  have  I  got  to!"  said  Joan 
feebly,  as  the  door  closed  behind  her. 

She  stood  for  some  moments  dripping  river  water 
on  to  the  snowy  floor-gratings.  It  was  as  though  she 
had  dived  through  the  amber  depths  of  the  Thames 
and  emerged  into  another  world.  The  most  amazing 
thing  of  all  was  that  Philip  Mottisfont  was  her 
rescuer — the  Fairy  Prince  who  had  brought  her 


30      THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

among  these  marvels.  Joan's  wet  cheeks  coloured 
faintly,  and  her  pulse  beat  quicker.  Gone  was  the 
noisy  crew  of  the  skiff,  the  terrible  admiration  of  Alf 
Blodmore  and  his  concertina. 

The  soothing  plash  of  hot  water  in  the  bath  called 
her  to  herself. 

Ten  minutes  later  Joan,  in  a  soft  bath- wrap  she 
found  on  the  door,  emerged  into  the  passage.  She 
was  met  by  her  laughing  guide,  Eileen  Kinloch,  who 
took  her  to  a  charming  sleeping-cabin  gay  with 
flowers,  where  stood  a  smart  lady's-maid. 

"We  are  much  of  a  size,"  said  Eileen,  "and  I  think 
my  kit  will  fit  you." 

"How  kind  you  are!"  said  Joan  timidly,  and  then 
she  saw  the  things  laid  out  on  the  lace  coverlet  of  the 
bed.  Her  eyes  opened  wide,  and  she  gave  a  small 
gasp. 

"  Oh !  I  could  not  put  on  those ! ' '  she  said,  almost 
with  awe. 

"I'm  afraid  they're  not  very  suitable,"  said  Eileen 
apologetically,  "but  it's  the  only  spare  kit  I've  got 
here — you  must  make  the  best  of  it.  Celeste,"  she 
said  to  the  maid,  "you  will  do  everything  possible 
for  Miss — er — Miss  Ayre.  And  take  great  pains 
with  her  hair." 

"Very  good  m'lady,"  said  the  maid. 

Lady  Eileen  Kinloch  left  the  room,  smiling  with 
mischievous  amusement.  Joan,  still  uncertain  what 
to  do,  stood  where  she  was  and  sipped  dazedly  at 
some  China  tea  in  a  Sevres  cup  that  was  handed  to 
her.  Then  the  deft  fingers  of  the  maid  began  to  busy 
themselves  about  her  unresisting  figure. 


THE  WORTH  FROCK  31 

Joan  felt  as  though  she  had  strayed  into  some 
gorgeous  dream  of  the  Arabian  Nights. 

Philip  Mottisfont,  escaping  from  the  chaff  of  his 
companions  on  deck,  made  for  the  men's  bathroom, 
dried  himself,  and  went  to  his  room  to  dress.  He  also 
could  hardly  realize  what  had  happened. 

"Joan  Ayre,  of  all  girls  living!"  he  said  to  himself. 
' '  Canted  into  the  river  like  a  sack  of  potatoes — and 
I've  brought  her  here !  Right  into  the  midst  of  us  all. 
Am  I  glad — or  sorry  ?  It  ought  to  be  a  quick  cure  for 
me!" 

He  picked  up  a  stud. 

"She'll  be  a  fish  out  of  water  here,  in  more  senses 
than  one.  I  hope  the  women  will  be  decent  to  her. 
What  wonderful  eyes  the  girl  has!  They  make  a 
man's  heart  beat.  They  make  him " 

He  straightened  himself  suddenly. 

"Philip,  my  son,  don't  make  a  fool  of  yourself,"  he 
said,  and  his  mouth  grew  hard.  "You've  made  one 
bad  break  already." 

Outside  his  profession  of  the  Bar,  Philip  was  a 
deliberate  and  luxurious  person.  He  spent  some 
forty  minutes  on  his  toilet,  a  little  reluctant,  perhaps, 
to  face  the  comments  of  his  companions  on  deck. 
At  last  he  joined  them,  cool,  self-possessed,  and 
debonair. 

The  twilight  was  closing  down.  Strings  of  little 
soft-coloured  fairy  lamps  were  lit  along  the  rails  and 
twined  among  the  flowers,  making  a  charming  effect. 
Everyone  was  on  deck  but  Eileen. 

"Philip,"  said  good-natured  Lady  Dunluce,  "you 


32      THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

have  charmed  us  all !  A  Sunday  newspaper  romance 
at  our  very  doorstep ! " 

"Absolutely  priceless!"  exclaimed  young  Douglas 
Blair.  "Just  when  we  were  all  feeling  so  dull,  old 
chap." 

Hilda  Detchmere  turned  her  hard,  handsome  feat- 
ures and  intolerant  dark  eyes  on  Mottisfont,  with  an 
air  of  proprietorship. 

"Did  you  say  you  know  this  young  person, 
Philip?"  she  asked  in  a  commanding  voice. 

"I  know  her  professionally,"  replied  Philip  easily, 
"she  is  the  best  typist  in  London — employed  in 
Tallis  Street." 

"A  typist  office !"  said  Hilda  grimly.  "I  should 
have  imagined,  from  her  behaviour  and  her  com- 
panions, that  it  was  a  jam  factory." 

"I  thought  her  rather  a  nice  little  thing — for  her 
class,"  said  Lady  Dunluce  amiably.  "By  the  way, 
did  any  of  you  notice  her  hands?" 

Hilda  Detchmere  stared. 

"They  were  the  hands,"  said  Lady  Dunluce,  "of 
a  gentlewoman."  She  turned,  as  a  stranger  came 
along  the  deck,  and  raised  her  lorgnette.  "Whom 
have  we  here  ?  Is  it  our  dear  Eileen  at  last  ? " 

The  company  turned  also,  and  a  sudden  silence  fell 
on  them — a  silence  of  complete  amazement.  Philip 
stood  up,  feeling  as  though  he  had  received  an  electric 
shock.  He  found  himself  facing  the  most  beautiful 
woman  he  had  ever  seen  in  his  life. 

The  vision  that  presented  itself  to  him  was 
slender,  above  the  middle  height,  extraordinarily 
graceful  and  dignified.  The  oval  face,  the  charm  and 


THE  WORTH  FROCK  33 

beauty  of  the  features,  were  framed  by  a  mass  of 
bright  brown  hair,  exquisitely  arranged  and  waved. 
She  looked  the  best-bred  woman  in  the  party.  A 
glorious  Worth  frock,  of  expensive  simplicity,  did 
honour  to  its  wearer.  For  a  moment  the  company 
stared,  dumbfounded. 

It  was  Joan  Ay  re,   the  little  typist  of  Temple 
Chambers. 


CHAPTER  IV 

BORROWED  PLUMES 

JOAN,  during  that  moment  of  general  surprise, 
alone  remained  perfectly  self-possessed.  She  ad- 
vanced, and  with  a  charming  smile  and  the  faintest 
possible  flush,  gave  her  hand  to  Mottisfont. 

"I  did  not  thank  you  properly  for  what  you  did  for 
me,"  she  said.  "I  felt  so  damp  and  stupid." 

"I  shall  feel  damp  and  stupid,  too,"  said  Philip, 
"if  you  thank  me  any  more.  I  only  conferred  a 
benefit  on  everybody  here  by  lifting  you  out  of  five 
feet  of  water.  By  the  way,  this  is  your  hostess — Miss 
Ayre — Lady  Dunluce." 

"How  kind  you  have  been ! "  said  Joan,  taking  that 
good-natured  lady's  hand.  "I  must  not  be  a 
nuisance.  As  soon  as  my  clothes  are  dry " 

"My  dear,"  said  Lady  Dunluce,  laying  a  hand  on 
her  shoulder,  "you  are  not  going  to  escape  us  like 
that.  You  have  brought  us  Romance — I  adore 
Romance!  Put  clothes  out  of  your  head — you  will 
dine  with  us,  of  course.  There's  the  gong — come 
along  good  people." 

She  turned  and  led  the  way  in. 

"How  perfectly  astounding!"  she  murmured  to 
Douglas  Blair,  who  was  at  her  elbow.  "A  trans- 
formation!" 

34 


BORROWED  PLUMES  35 

The  invitation  to  dine  was  to  Joan  the  culminating 
impossibility  of  this  afternoon  of  wonders.  There 
were  no  words  for  it.  Yet  she  felt  that  to  hesitate 
and  make  excuses  would  be  underbred.  All  things 
seemed  to  follow  so  naturally  here.  A  timid  glow  of 
happiness  flushed  through  her  heart.  She  glanced 
at  Mottisfont;  he  was  looking  curiously  happy  too; 
the  frankest  respect  and  admiration  was  in  his  eyes. 
Lady  Eileen  Kinloch  broke  in  with  a  little  sigh. 

"I  never  knew  how  well  that  Worth  frock  could 
look,"  she  said.  "I  feel  quite  proud  of  it!" 

Hilda  Detchmere  stared  at  Joan  from  under  her 
half-closed  eyelids. 

"You  carry  clothes  rather  well,"  she  said  suavely. 
"I  should  advise  you  to  give  up  typing,  and  adopt 
the  profession  of  dressmaker's  mannequin." 

Joan  gave  no  sign  of  having  heard  this  imperti- 
nence, but  walked  unconcernedly  in  before  Mottis- 
font, a  slight  tinge  of  pink  mounting  behind  her  ears. 
Philip,  however,  turned  suddenly  and  came  back. 

"Hilda,"  he  said  quietly. 

"Well!"  said  the  Hon.  Hilda  Detchmere. 

"You  pride  yourself,  I  believe,  on  a  cutting 
tongue,"  he  said,  looking  her  straight  in  the  eyes. 
"It  may  be  an  asset — to  a  barrister.  It  is  a  poison- 
ous thing  in  a  woman!" 

He  turned  on  his  heel  without  another  word.  A 
dark,  angry  flush  spread  over  Miss  Detchmere's 
cheeks.  Joan,  quite  unaware  of  the  little  interlude, 
found  herself  in  a  charming  dining-cabin  before  a  long 
table,  shining  with  silver,  snowy  linen,  banked  with 
red  roses  and  gladioli.  Everyone  was  chattering 


36     THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

merrily,  and  a  moment  later  Joan  was  seated  between 
Philip  and  Douglas  Blair.  A  silent  man-servant 
in  white-duck  livery  placed  a  little  golden  crescent 
of  iced  canteloupe  melon  before  her. 

"No  need  to  ask  you  if  you're  any  the  worse  for 
your  ducking,"  said  Lady  Dunluce,  nodding  cheer- 
fully to  Joan.  "You  are  the  most  decorative  thing 
in  the  room.  Tell  me,  did  your  past  life  all  flash 
before  you  when  you  were  under  water,  as  one  hears 
it  does?" 

"My  past  life  has  been  very  ordinary,"  smiled 
Joan,  "until  today." 

"It's  something  to  be  rescued  by  a  future  Lord 
Chancellor!"  laughed  Eileen  Kinloch. 

"Are  you  a  future  Lord  Chancellor?"  said  Joan  to 
Mottisfont,  opening  her  eyes. 

"Pulling  my  leg  is  the  only  occupation  this  com- 
pany has,"  said  Mottisfont  placidly. 

"Nothing  less  than  the  Woolsack  and  a  peerage 
will  satisfy  Philip,"  said  Lady  Dunluce.  "Yes,  I 
think  we  shall  see  him  there.  I  hope  so.  I  take  an 
interest  in  the  careers  of  unscrupulous  young  men; 
that  is,  when  they  are  good-looking.  You're  not 
bad  looking,  Philip." 

"He  isn't  really  unscrupulous,  either,"  said  Lady 
Eileen  with  a  twinkle,  "only  selfish.  Aren't  you, 
Philip?" 

"Ambitious,  anyhow,"  said  Douglas  with  a  slight 
wink. 

"It's  the  same  thing,"  said  Eileen  oracularly. 

"Quaint  nonsense  these  people  talk,  don't  they?" 
said  Mottisfont  confidentially  to  Joan.  ' '  Tell  me,  are 


BORROWED  PLUMES  37 

you  going  on  the  river  tomorrow?  Some  of  the  most 
lovely  places  in  the  Thames  Valley  are  near  us  here." 

During  the  rest  of  dinner  he  talked  almost  exclu- 
sively to  Joan,  and  talked,  too,  with  a  charm  that 
made  her  feel  as  if  she  were  in  an  enchanted  world. 
More  and  more  did  Joan  become  conscious  that  this 
man,  of  whom  she  had  seen  so  little,  was  becoming  an 
influence  in  her  life  that  made  her  tremble.  Never 
before  had  love  entered  into  her  drab  existence.  And 
he  seemed  like  a  being  from  another  world.  Now,  for 
the  hour  at  least,  she  was  of  that  world.  Philip 
seemed  unconscious  that  she  had  ever  been  anything 
else.  He  talked  to  her  as  if  he  had  known  her  for  a 
year.  Under  the  mask  of  his  easy  manners,  she  did 
not  guess  how  deeply  he,  too,  was  moved. 

The  dinner  ended,  they  all  went  out  on  deck, 
and  Mottisfont  was  skilfully  drawn  aside  by  Hilda 
Detchmere,  whose  previous  ill-temper  quickly  melted. 
Few  women  could  remain  out  of  humour  long  before 
Philip  Mottisfont's  quiet  charm.  Joan  was  engaged 
in  talk  by  the  rest  of  the  group,  and  she  introduced  a 
topic  which  the  others  had  all  avoided. 

"I  hope  my  friends  got  back  safely,"  she  said  a 
little  uneasily.  "Even  now  I  hardly  know  what 
really  happened.  Only  two  of  us  fell  in,  but " 

"Well,"  said  Douglas  Blair,  "as  far  as  I  could  see, 
you  were  the  only  one  that  fell  in.  The  gentleman 
in  the — er — blazer,  flopped  in  by  way  of  an  effort 
to  save  you.  Rather  a  futile  effort,"  added  Blair 
drily,  "as  he  evidently  could  not  swim." 

Joan  stared  blankly.  Then  she  flushed  and  rose 
to  her  feet. 


38      THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

"To  save  me!  And  he  could  not  swim?"  she 
exclaimed  warmly.  "It  is  as  brave  a  thing  as  I  ever 
heard  of!" 

"Why,  yes,  in  a  way  I  suppose,"  said  Blair,  "but 
really " 

' '  I  must  go  back  and  see  them ! "  said  Joan,  moving 
away.  ' '  I — I  ought  not  to  be  here " 

"No,  no.  Sit  down  Miss  Ayre,  and  rest  yourself," 
said  Lady  Dunluce  soothingly.  "Your  friend  has 
had  nothing  worse  than  a  wetting,  and  is  safe  at 
home  by  now." 

Joan  hesitated.  A  silence  had  fallen  on  the  others 
at  the  mention  of  the  ineffable  boating  party.  At 
that  moment  Mottisfont  returned. 

"Come  on  the  upper  deck,  Miss  Ayre,"  he  said, 
"and  I'll  show  you  the  most  perfect  sight  in  the 
Thames  Valley — the  moon  rising  over  Knayth." 

He  detached  her  from  the  party  with  perfect 
naturalness  and  ease.  Joan  accompanied  him,  a 
little  wonderingly,  to  the  upper  deck.  A  light  laugh 
from  Hilda  Detchmere  seemed  to  follow  them. 
Philip,  quite  unconcerned,  set  a  deck-chair  for  Joan, 
and  dropped  into  another  beside  her.  The  river 
swirled  gently,  silvered  by  the  first  shimmer  of 
moonlight.  Bats  were  hawking  through  the  still  air, 
that  was  heavy  with  the  scent  of  roses.  From  the 
rushes  came  the  drowsy  cry  of  a  moorhen. 

"Is  not  this  perfect?"  said  Philip  quietly,  drinking 
in  the  scene  with  sombre  eyes.  ' '  The  fools  that  men 
are  to  strive  for  the  things  that  do  not  matter,  when 
there  is  so  much  beauty  in  the  world." 

Joan  became  aware  that  he  was  looking  at  her 


BORROWED  PLUMES  39 

intently.  A  thrill  of  happiness  ran  through  her,  at 
the  magic  of  his  presence  at  her  side ,  the  poise  of  his 
well-shaped  head,  the  sense  of  power  in  the  clean- 
cut  features  and  strong  chin. 

"These  things  would  never  content  you,"  she  said. 
"I  remember  what  they  said  below.  You  are 
ambitious." 

Mottisfont  laughed  lightly. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "you  are  right.  I  am  out  for  the 
big  things — the  big,  stirring  things  of  life.  Success. 
I  may  not  win  it.  But  nothing  under  the  sun  would 
pay  me  for  the  loss  of  it." 

"You  would  let  nothing  stand  in  your  way?"  said 
Joan.  "You  would  tread  under  foot  any  weakness 
of  your  own  that  you  thought  might  hamper 
you?" 

"Ruthlessly,"  he  answered,  "and  at  any  cost  in 
pain  to  myself.  Do  you  think  that  sounds  hard? 
But  a  man  is  entitled  to  fight  for  the  goal  to  which 
he  has  set  himself,  and  to  develop  the  best  he  believes 
is  in  him." 

An  unreasoning  stab  of  pain  shot  through  Joan's 
gentle  little  breast.  In  silence  she  looked  away  from 
him,  and  her  eyes  rested  on  a  wonderful  picture  in  the 
distance — the  half-moon  rising  over  a  group  of  towers 
and  gables  standing  above  bosomed  woods,  on  the 
crest  of  a  hill  across  the  river. 

"How  perfectly  lovely,"  said  Joan,  anxious  to 
change  the  theme.  "What  place  is  that?" 

"That  is  Knayth  Abbey,"  answered  Philip,  "one 
of  the  most  beautiful  houses  in  England.  It  belongs 
to  an  ancient  race — the  Tallbois  family — or  did 


40     THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

rather,  for  the  last  of  them  is  dead.  Every  room  and 
tower  is  full  of  history  and  charm,  and  the  memory 
of  great  things.  One  wonders  what  will  happen  to 
it  now." 

"You  know  it?" 

"I  have  been  there  once  or  twice,  in  old  Lord 
Tallbois'  time." 

"I  wish  I  could  see  it,"  murmured  Joan,  "but  of 
course " 

"Anybody  can  see  it  for  a  shilling.  It  was  thrown 
open  to  the  public  on  Mondays  when  the  family  was 
away — and  is  now.  The  fees  go  to  charity.  Would 
you  really  care  to  go  over  it?"  he  said  eagerly.  "I 
am  sure  I  could  take  you.  Say  on  Tuesday,  when 
it  is  clear  of  the  rabble." 

"I  am  engaged  with  my  friends  tomorrow,"  said 
Joan,  "and  on  Tuesday — I  shall  be  back  at  Puttock 
&  Copes." 

There  was  silence.  A  chill  seemed  to  fall  between 
them.  A  fraction  of  a  second's  pause,  and  Joan  rose 
abruptly  from  the  deck  chair. 

"I  must  go  back!"  she  said  in  a  stifled  voice. 
"My  friends  will  be  wondering  what  has  become  of 
me." 

Philip  tried  to  detain  her,  but  Joan  made  her  way 
to  the  party  of  guests  and  declared  that  she  must 
leave.  She  would  change  into  her  own  clothes. 

"It's  impossible;  your  things  are  still  soaking," 
said  Eileen  Kinloch.  "Go  just  as  you  are — I  don't 
need  the  frock.  You  can  post  it  back  to  me ;  here  is 
my  address." 

Joan  thanked  her,  and  bade  a  grateful  adieu  to 


BORROWED  PLUMES  41 

Lady  Dunluce  and  the  others.  No  further  attempt 
was  made  to  keep  her.  She  had  amused  them  all, 
but  though  perfectly  courteous  they  had  the  air  of 
having  had  enough  of  her  now.  Her  hour  was  over. 
Mottisfont  was  the  only  one  who  regretted  her 
departure. 

"If  you  really  will  go,  I  shall  see  you  to  your 
quarters,"  he  said. 

Joan  replied  that  it  was  only  half  a  mile,  and  no 
escort  was  necessary.  But  Philip  insisted,  and  soon 
they  had  landed  and  were  walking  side  by  side  along 
the  dusty  white  road  in  the  moonlight.  There  was 
complete  silence  between  them.  Joan  set  the  pace 
rapidly,  though  Philip  seemed  inclined  to  linger  He 
looked  surprised,  and  even  hurt;  he  seemed  to  be 
keeping  himself  under  strong  restraint.  A  house 
came  in  view  and  Joan  halted. 

"Don't  come  any  farther,  please,"  she  said.  "I 
am  at  home  now."  She  held  out  her  hand,  and 
Philip  took  it. 

"Thank  you,  for  your  kindness  to  me,"  she  said  in 
a  low  voice.  "Good-bye,  Mr.  Mottisfont." 

"You  will  let  me  see  you  again?"  he  said,  without 
releasing  her  hand. 

Joan  looked  straight  at  him. 

"Only,"  she  said,  "when  you  have  work  for  me 
to  do  at  Puttock  &  Copes.  Good-bye." 

She  withdrew  her  hand,  and  turning  abruptly, 
walked  straight  on.  In  a  few  moments  she  was  out 
of  sight  round  the  corner.  A  straggling,  tumble- 
down farm-house  loomed  up  before  her.  It  was 
inhabited  by  a  married  uncle  of  Emmie's,  who 


42      THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

managed  a  small  market  garden,  and  here  the 
boating  party  was  staying  as  paying  week-end 
guests. 

Joan  passed  through  the  wicket-gate  and  opened 
the  kitchen  door.  A  smoky  lamp  stood  on  the  table, 
also  a  beer-jug  and  glasses.  Emmie  was  sitting  on 
Ted  Hartopp's  knee,  and  Alf  Blodmore  was  crooning 
a  lullaby  to  the  concertina. 

A  thunderbolt  could  not  have  made  a  greater  sen- 
sation than  the  splendid  vision  that  confronted  them 
in  the  Worth  frock.  The  lamplight  shone  with  a 
lambent  glory  on  Joan's  hair.  Alf  Blodmore  dropped 
his  concertina  and  gaped,  open-mouthed.  Emmie 
gave  a  little  scream. 

"Joan!"  she  gasped  after  a  brief  pause,  "is  this 
you?" 

' '  Of  course  it's  I, "  said  Joan.  ' '  They  lent  me  some 
clothes. ' '  She  went  straight  up  to  Mr.  Blodmore  and 
took  both  his  unresisting  hands  in  hers.  ' '  I  want  to 
thank  you,  Alf,  for  what  you  did  for  me,"  she  said 
warmly.  "It  was  brave  and  splendid  of  you!" 

Alf  wagged  her  hands  up  and  down  mechanically. 

"That's  all  right,  Miss  Ayre,"  he  gasped.  "It— it 
wasn't  anything.  Nothin'  at  all,  Miss  Ayre.  I'm 
proud " 

He  dropped  her  hands  as  if  they  burned  him,  and 
moved  back  a  step,  staring  at  her  with  awe  and 
incredulity.  Ted  Hartopp's  eyes  were  like  saucers. 
Joan  stepped  across  and  affectionately  kissed  the 
astonished  Emmie. 

"I'm  going  to  bed,  dear,"  she  said.  "I'm  rather 
tired.  Good  night,  Emmie." 


BORROWED  PLUMES  43 

She  took  a  candle  from  the  slab.  Emmie  gave  her 
a  quick,  suspicious  glance,  but  Joan  wearily  climbed 
the  stairs,  feeling  as  though  her  limbs  had  turned 
to  lead.  On  the  landing  she  heard  a  step  behind 
her. 

"MissAyre!" 

She  turned,  and  found  Alf  Blodmore  had  followed 
her.  For  a  long  time  she  had  endured  patiently  this 
man's  trying  but  always  respectful  admiration.  To 
hurt  even  Alf  Blodmore's  feelings  was  a  thing  impos- 
sible to  her — foreign  to  her  very  nature.  And  now 
he  seemed  transfigured;  a  great  light  in  his  honest 
brown  eyes  redeemed  the  heavy  chin  and  common- 
place features  of  the  man. 

' '  Miss  Ayre ! "  he  said  hoarsely.  ' '  I  gotter  speak — 
I  can't  help  it!  I've  always  hoped — you  might  get 
to  care  a  bit  about  me?  Did  you  mean  what 
you  said  just  now?  I  know  I  ain't  much  of  a 
chap!" 

He  fell  on  his  knees,  and  caught  her  hands. 

"Ain't  there  no  chance  for  me,  Joan?  When  I  see 
you  in  the  clothes  them  toffs  give  you,  I  thought  you 
was  out  of  my  reach — for  good  an'  all.  You  look  so 
far  above  me — you  was  always  that !  I'd  lay  me  life 
down  for  you ! "  he  said  wildly.  ' '  Tell  me,  Joan,  ain't 
there  no  hope  for  me — not  even  a  little? " 

Joan,  a  great  lump  in  her  throat,  tried  to  draw  her 
hand  away. 

"Don't!"  she  said  faintly.  "I'm  so  sorry — so 
sorry." 

Alf  looked  up  at  her.  One  glance  told  him  it  was 
hopeless.  He  rose  to  his  feet,  and  hung  his  head. 


44     THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

"All  right,  Miss  Ayre,"  he  said  huskily.  "Gawd 
bless  you — an'  guard  you!" 

Joan  escaped  to  her  room,  her  eyes  wet.  For  some 
time  she  stood  motionless  by  the  window.  She  was 
infinitely  sorry  for  Alf .  He  had  never  been  anything 
more  than  a  nuisance,  which  her  gentle  little  soul 
shrank  from  repelling  harshly.  Poor  Alf!  It  was 
hard  on  him.  Why  should  he  care  for  her  ?  And  in 
a  few  minutes  he  was  blotted  from  her  mind. 

Joan  looked  round  her  at  the  meanly  furnished 
room,  with  its  broken  wash-stand  and  hideous  wall- 
paper. Her  heart  grew  heavier.  She  was  used  to 
poverty ;  never  before  had  these  things  affected  her. 
The  shabby  curtains  threw  a  dancing  shadow  on  the 
wall,  the  cracked  mirror  seemed  to  stare  at  her 
mockingly.  Slowly  she  began  to  unhook  the  Worth 
frock  and  laid  it  on  the  bed.  It  was  such  a  dress  as 
she  had  seen  in  dreams.  In  its  place  she  donned  a 
cheap  print  wrap. 

The  scene  on  the  house-boat  came  back  to  her. 
Philip  Mottisfont's  clear-cut  features  against  the 
glow  of  the  fairy  lamps;  his  gentle  deference,  the 
arresting  charm  of  his  voice.  Seating  herself  at 
the  window,  Joan  looked  out  upon  the  night. 

"No  man  with  eyes  like  that  is  selfish,"  she  mur- 
mured. "I  will  not  have  them  call  him  selfish!" 
There  was  a  strangled  feeling  in  her  throat.  ' '  I  love 
him!  I  love  him!  Let  me  be  honest  with  myself, 
at  least.  And  if  he  were  poor — I  believe — I  believe 
that  he  might  care.  What  is  the  use?  He  belongs 
to  another  world  than  mine. 

"He  will  marry  some  woman  of  his  own  class — one 


BORROWED  PLUMES  45 

who  can  help,  not  hinder  him.  What  am  I  ?  A  waif, 
a  nobody — and  poor.  It  is  my  poverty  that  stands 
between  us.  If  only  I  had  never  met  him ! " 

Joan  flung  her  arms  across  the  table,  and  buried 
her  face  on  them.  Her  shoulders  quivered.  A  tear 
trickled  over  the  print  wrapper. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  CODE  TELEGRAM 

THE  towers  of  Knayth  Abbey  flung  blue  shadows 
athwart  the  shaven  lawns.  Four  great  cedar  trees 
beyond  the  terrace  stood  like  sentinels  of  immemorial 
peace.  A  stately  peacock  trailed  his  gorgeous  fan 
slowly  over  the  dewy  grass.  Above  him  a  hundred 
windows  flamed  in  the  morning  sunshine. 

In  the  panelled  south-east  room  which  opened  on 
the  terrace,  Mr.  Pond,  the  butler,  watched  his  sub- 
ordinate footman  deftly  polishing  decanters. 

"You  certainly  know  how  to  handle  glass,  James," 
said  Mr.  Pond  patronizingly,  but  not  unkindly.  "I 
don't  mind  telling  you,  my  lad,  that  you  do  pretty  well. ' ' 

"I've  served  some  very  particular  gentlemen,  Mr. 
Pond,"  said  James  Floyd  deferentially,  "but  I've 
never  had  the  luck  to  drop  in  such  a  good  place  as 
this.  And  I'm  extry  pleased  to  give  satisfaction  to 
you,  Mr.  Pond,  who  is,  as  I  may  say,  at  the  top  of  the 
profession." 

"As  to  the  place,"  replied  the  butler,  "I  don't 
know  how  long  you  or  any  of  us'll  keep  it.  I'm  a  bit 
surprised  at  the  steward  takin'  you  on,  though  we're 
very  short-handed,  even  with  nobody  in  residence. 
It  beats  me  to  guess  what's  to  become  of  Knayth, 
now  there  ain't  a  Tallbois  left,  and  his  lordship  don't 

46 


THE  CODE  TELEGRAM  47 

even  seem  to  have  left  a  will.  It's  a  great  pity,"  he 
sighed.  "I  don't  see  myself  comin'  down  to  servin' 
a  soap-boiler  or  a  war-millionaire.  I've  always  been 
used  to  live  with  gentlepeople." 

The  deep  clang  of  the  front  entrance  bell  inter- 
rupted him,  and  he  frowned  majestically. 

"That,"  said  Mr.  Pond  sourly,  "will  be  some  of 
those  dratted  Monday  excursionists,  wantin'  to  go 
over  the  place.  And  there's  several  things  I  want  to 
do."  He  looked  sharply  at  the  footman.  "Do  you 
think,  James,  that  you're  equal  to  showin'  them 
round?  You're  an  intelligent  man,  an'  I've  coached 
you  well  about  the  pictures  and  the  Knayth  history 
and  all  the  rest  of  it — it  bein'  my  idea  that  you  might 
relieve  me  of  this  job,  which  I'm  fed  up  with." 

"I'm  sure  I  could,  Mr.  Pond,  and  very  happy 
I  shall  be  to  oblige  you,"  said  Floyd.  "I've  learned 
so  much  from  you  that  I  feel  as  if  I  know  enough 
about  the  Abbey  an'  the  Tallbois  history  to  fill  a 
book.  I  can  handle  those  excursionists." 

"Cut  along  then,  my  lad,"  said  Mr.  Pond.  "See 
that  they  wipes  their  boots  properly,  pay  in  their 
shillings,  an'  sign  the  address  book;  that's  the  rule. 
And,"  added  Mr.  Pond,  as  Floyd  departed,  "don't 
forget  the  Knayth  Goblet  and  its  story.  They're 
all  after  that,  an'  likely  you'll  get  a  tip  out  of  it." 

The  footman  left  the  room  wearing  an  expression 
of  gratified  wonder  at  Mr.  Pond's  condescension. 
Once  outside  the  room,  however,  he  permitted  him- 
self to  smile.  For  James  Floyd  was  no  other  than 
Slaney,  the  trusted  henchman  of  Callaghan  and  his 
enterprising  gang. 


48     THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

For  a  fortnight  Slaney  had  been  installed  at 
Knayth  Abbey,  and  by  his  diligence,  grave  manner, 
and  deferential  politeness  to  the  butler  and  house- 
keeper had  become  a  favourite  in  the  upper-servants' 
hall.  From  Mr.  Pond  he  had  acquired  a  wealth 
of  information  about  the  Tallbois  households,  both 
town  and  country. 

The  berth  was  beginning  to  pall  on  him  a  little,  for 
it  seemed  that  he  might  wait  an  indefinite  time  before 
learning  anything  about  the  lost  daughter  of  the  late 
Jim  Carey,  and  he  was  out  of  touch  with  his  partners. 

Slaney  crossed  the  great  central  hall  that  was  large 
enough  to  hold  a  double  company  of  infantry,  and 
opened  one  of  the  main  doors.  On  the  top  of  the 
wide  flight  of  steps  stood  a  girl  in  a  cheap  linen  frock, 
a  wistful  expression  on  her  face. 

"May  I  look  over  the  house,  please?"  she  asked 
timidly. 

For  a  moment  Slaney  stood  with  his  fingers  on  the 
door  handle,  staring  at  her.  The  manner  of  the 
trained  man-servant  seemed  to  have  fallen  away  from 
him.  As  he  scanned  the  girl's  face  his  eyes  showed 
amazement,  greed,  wonder,  and  doubt.  So  strange 
was  his  look  that  Joan — for  it  was  she — felt  a  curious 
little  shiver.  Then  the  mask  fell  upon  Slaney's  face. 

"Yes,  miss,"  he  said  a  trifle  huskily.  "Come  in, 
please." 

Joan  entered  the  great  hall.  At  that  moment  a 
tall  grey-haired  man  in  blue  serge  came  down  the  oak 
staircase.  It  was  Mr.  Deane,  the  resident  agent 
of  the  Knayth  estate.  He  glanced  at  Joan.  Mr. 
Deane,  though  elderly,  had  an  eye  for  beauty.  The 


THE  CODE  TELEGRAM  49 

tender,  simple  charm  of  the  girl's  face  interested  him. 

"You  wish  to  see  over  the  place?"  he  said 
courteously. 

"If  I  may?"  replied  Joan.  Mr.  Deane  hesi- 
tated. 

"You  may  go  to  your  duties,"  he  said  to  Slaney. 
"As  Pond  is  not  here  I  will  show  this  lady  around." 

Slaney  withdrew  slowly  and  reluctantly.  When 
he  was  out  of  the  hall  he  shook  his  head. 

"Can't  be,"  he  muttered.  "An'  yet— I  ain't 
sure.  It  wants  watchin  V 

Mr.  Deane  led  Joan  to  a  side  table  on  which  stood 
a  book. 

"Your  name  and  address  here,  please,"  he  said, 
with  a  smile,  "and  just  a  shilling  in  this  little  box. 
Thank  you.  It  goes  to  a  worthy  charity.  And  now 
I'll  do  what  I  can  for  you.  This  is  the  great  entrance 
hall,  and  was  once  the  banqueting  chamber  of 
Knayth." 

Joan  feasted  her  eyes  on  the  glories  of  the  vast 
chamber,  the  suits  of  armour,the  galleried  staircases, 
the  mellow  light  shining  through  diamond-paned 
windows  on  to  pictures  that  were  beyond  price. 

"It  is  more  beautiful  than  I  ever  dreamed  of!" 
she  said. 

Mr.  Deane  told  her  the  history  of  the  more  strik- 
ing objects  in  the  hall.  Joan  scarcely  heard  him. 
Curiously,  she  felt  no  awe  at  the  proportions  and 
splendour  of  the  place.  A  feeling  of  perfect  content- 
ment and  peace  and  happiness  seemed  to  take 
possession  of  her. 

"But  the  East  Room  is  finer  than  this,"  said  Mr. 


50     THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

Deane.  "It  is  the  gem  of  Knayth.  Presently  you 
shall  see  it." 

"I  should  love  to  see  it,"  returned  Joan  gratefully 
"Is  this  it?" 

She  opened  the  door  nearest  to  her,  one  of  six  that 
gave  upon  the  hall,  before  Mr.  Deane  could  perform 
the  office.  He  looked  surprised,  and  a  trifle  annoyed. 

"Ah,  you  have  seen  the  house  before,"  he  said. 

"Never  in  my  life,"  replied  Joan,  and  as  if 
recollecting  herself,  she  added  with  slight  confusion, 
"I  beg  your  pardon.  I  should  have  waited  for  you. 
Is  this  not  the  room?" 

"It  is  the  room,"  said  Mr.  Deane  smiling,  "but  I 
do  not  see  how  you  could  know  it  if  you  have  not 
been  here." 

"I  was  never  even  in  Berkshire  before,"  said  Joan, 
"but  I  feel  as  though  I  had  seen  this  place  in  a  dream, 
and  that  it  had  come  true.  Do  you  believe  in  such 
things?"  she  added,  laughing. 

"Knayth  itself  is  a  dream — a  dream  of  beauty," 
said  Mr.  Deane,  throwing  the  door  wide.  The 
sunshine  lit  the  panelled  oak  of  a  superb  chamber, 
with  a  fireplace  in  which  a  man  could  stand  upright. 
Before  the  empty  hearth  lay  two  great  deerhounds, 
motionless,  their  heads  resting  on  their  outstretched 
paws. 

"Don't  be  afraid  of  the  dogs,"  said  Mr.  Deane. 
"They  will  take  no  notice  of  you — they  never  do  of 
any  one.  That  breed  has  been  at  Knayth  three 
centuries.  Sometimes,"  he  added  smiling,  "I  think 
they  are  mourning  for  poor  Lord  Tallbois,  though  he 
was  bedridden,  and  it  is  long  since  they  saw  him." 


THE  CODE  TELEGRAM  51 

"They  do  look  sad,"  said  Joan.  "And  what 
beauties  they  are!" 

As  though  to  give  Mr.  Deane  the  lie,  at  the  first 
sound  of  Joan's  voice  the  nearest  hound  raised  his 
head  and  looked  straight  at  her.  The  second  fol- 
lowed suit.  The  two  great  dogs  rose  and  walked  up 
to  Joan,  their  brown,  liquid  eyes  raised  to  hers.  One 
of  them  gently  thrust  its  cool  nose  into  her  hand. 

"Oh,  what  darlings!"  exclaimed  Joan,  dropping 
on  one  knee  and  caressing  them.  The  larger  hound 
raised  a  grizzled  fore-leg  and  pawed  her  gently,  and 
its  mate  tried  to  lick  her  chin.  Mr.  Deane  stared. 

"You  must  have  a  wonderful  way  with  dogs!"  he 
said.  "I'm  fond  of  them,  too,  but  though  I've 
served  the  estate  forty  years  these  treat  me  as  though 
I  did  not  exist.  Come  and  see  this  portrait — it  is  a 
Lely.  Is  not  that  a  beautiful  face?  Viscountess 
Tallbois  of  Charles  II. 's  Court;  for  this  title  is  one 
of  the  few  that  descends  in  the  female  line  if  there 
are  no  sons.  The  oak  secretaire  on  which  she  is  lean- 
ing is  the  very  one  you  see  here  in  the  room,  and 
that  is  a  Knayth  deerhound  that  lies  at  her  feet  in 
the  picture." 

Joan  admired  the  beautiful  woman  in  the  Stuart 
dress,  but  Mr.  Deane  swept  on  in  the  tide  of  his  tale. 

"And  here  is  the  most  priceless  thing  we  have,"  he 
said,  pointing  to  a  shimmering  object  of  glass  and 
gems  that  stood  in  a  hollowed  recess  of  the  wall,  pro- 
tected by  a  glazed  door  with  a  grille  of  thin  steel  bars. 
' '  The  Knayth  Goblet.  It  has  a  secret  of  its  own,  and 
it  was  made  by  Benvenuto  Cellini,  the  greatest  artist 
— and  the  greatest  villain — of  the  Renaissance. 


52      THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

There  are  thirteen  pierced  jewels  on  the  stem  of  it 
alone." 

Joan,  with  a  little  exclamation  of  wonder  at  its 
beauty,  gazed  at  the  goblet.  She  rested  her  arm 
unconsciously  on  the  black  oak  secretaire  before  her 
and  the  sun  lit  up  her  hair.  One  of  the  deerhounds 
stretched  himself  contentedly  at  her  feet. 

Mr.  Deane  gave  a  faint  gasp.  Joan's  features,  her 
pose,  her  very  surroundings,  were  a  perfect  replica  of 
the  stately  Viscountess  on  the  mellow  canvas  above 
her  head,  standing  by  the  crouching  hound.  Save 
only  for  the  difference  between  the  cheap  linen  frock 
and  the  Court  dress,  the  resemblance  was  perfect — 
uncanny.  Joan  turned  her  head. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  she  said  quietly. 

' '  Nothing ! ' '  said  Deane  confusedly.  ' '  A — a  curi- 
ous resemblance,  that's  all.  I " 

"You  were  telling  me  about  the  Goblet.  It  is 
exquisite.  I  wish  I  could  see  it  close  at  hand,"  said 
Joan,  almost  with  a  touch  of  command. 

Without  a  word  Mr.  Deane  took  a  bunch  of  keys 
from  his  pocket  and  opened  the  glazed  door.  He 
seemed  curiously  anxious  to  please  Joan. 

"It  is  a  long  time  since  it  was  brought  out,"  he 
said,  setting  the  Goblet  on  a  table  just  out  of  Joan's 
reach,  with  reverent  care.  The  amber-coloured  cup 
was  double-rimmed,  and  the  stem  was  set  with  sap- 
phires and  moonstones. 

"What  is  its  secret?" 

"A  harmless  one — for  Cellini.  It  is  impossible  to 
drink  from  it  without  spilling  half  the  contents  at 
least.  I  will  show  you." 


THE  CODE  TELEGRAM  53 

There  was  a  water  jug  close  at  hand,  but  Mr. 
Deane  brought  a  decanter  of  Maderia  from  a  cellaret, 
remarking  that  to  use  water  would  be  sacrilege.  He 
poured  in  a  wineglassful,  and  taking  the  Goblet  up 
carefully,  tilted  it  as  though  to  drink.  Immediately 
a  stream  of  wine  flowed  through  his  fingers  along 
the  stem,  and  out  by  the  double  rim,  pattering 
on  the  oak  table. 

"It  is  useless  as  a  drinking-cup  then!"  said  Joan, 
laughing  at  him. 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Deane,  "not  if  the  trick  is  known. 
There  is  some  method,  very  cunningly  devised,  of 
touching  those  pierced  jewels.  But  none  save  the 
Tallbois — and  generally  only  the  head  of  the  family 
— holds  that  secret.  I  have  seen  the  old  Viscount 
do  it.  And  it  amused  him  to  let  others  try;  none 
have  ever  succeeded.  I've  known  a  crowned  head 
attempt  it,  and  fail." 

Joan  took  her  arm  from  the  secretaire  and  stood 
erect.  At  that  moment,  it  seemed  to  her  that  she 
saw  a  face  peering  at  her  round  the  ivy  that  fringed 
the  near  window.  A  face  so  sinister  and  eager  that  a 
shock  of  revulsion  seized  the  girl,  and  a  faint  tremb- 
ling. The  face  vanished — surely  it  was  nothing  but 
a  vision ! 

She  went  deadly  white  none  the  less,  and  swayed 
where  she  stood.  Mr.  Deane,  alarmed,  sprang  to 
support  her. 

"It  is  nothing!"  she  said  dizzily,  and  remembered 
that  she  had  had  no  breakfast.  "I  fell  in  the  river 
yesterday;  perhaps  it's  that — a  little  faint " 

"You  look  ill!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Deane,  decidedly 


54     THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

scared.  "Some  wine! — "  He  seized  the  decanter 
and  looked  round;  he  splashed  some  wine  into 
the  Goblet  and  gripped  the  stem.  "Take  this — 
never  mind  your  dress — it  will  pull  you  round." 

Joan  put  the  glass  aside  and  freed  herself  from 
Mr.  Deane's  supporting  arm.  He  set  down  the 
Goblet  and  looked  at  her  anxiously.  Again  the 
buzzing  in  her  ears,  the  dizziness.  To  faint  there 
would  be  dreadful.  She  stretched  out  a  hand,  took 
the  Goblet,  drank,  and  set  it  back  on  the  table.  At 
once  she  felt  revived. 

"Thank  you,  that  is  better,"  she  said,  and  then 
glanced  with  surprise  at  Mr.  Deane.  He  was  staring 
in  blind  amazement. 

"Do  you  know,"  he  said  slowly,  "that  you 
drained  the  Knayth  Goblet  and  never  spilled  a 
drop!" 

"Did  I?"  said  Joan,  opening  her  eyes.  "A  lucky 
accident — for  my  dress.  But  how  strange." 

' '  Strange !  You  could  not  do  it  again  in  a  thousand 
times!"  he  said,  staring,  and  caught  up  the  decanter. 
"Try.  Oblige  me  by  trying.  It  looked  like  a 
miracle!" 

"No  more  wine,  please!"  protested  Joan. 

He  dashed  water  into  the  Goblet.  Joan  stretched 
out  a  hand.  With  perfect  unconsciousness  her 
slender  fingers  clicked  down  on  four  of  the  thirteen 
pierced  jewels  of  the  stem ;  she  raised  the  cup,  drained 
it  cleanly,  and  set  it  down  with  a  steady  hand.  Mr. 
Deane  came  nearer  to  her. 

' '  Who  are  you  ? "  he  said  a  little  hoarsely.  * '  Young 
lady,  where  do  you  come  from?" 


THE  CODE  TELEGRAM  55 

Slaney,  slinking  back  from  his  post  of  vantage 
behind  the  ivy  of  the  window,  hurried  round  the 
wing  of  the  house  and  made  for  the  hall.  His  eyes 
were  shining  with  the  light  of  triumph.  He  made 
for  the  book  in  the  porch,  and  swiftly  scribbled  Joan's 
name  and  address  on  an  envelope.  Then,  hurrying 
to  the  garage,  he  wheeled  out  a  bicycle  and  pedalled 
rapidly  down  the  long  drive  through  the  park. 

Slaney  reached  the  highroad,  wheeled  to  the  left, 
and  after  five  minutes'  hard  riding  came  within  view 
of  the  hamlet  of  High  Cleave.  Rounding  a  corner 
somewhat  recklessly  he  nearly  ran  down  a  tall, 
shabby  individual  tramping  along  the  dusty  road. 
Slaney  swerved,  and  without  apology  rode  straight 
on. 

The  shabby  man  halted  abruptly  and  stared  after 
the  cyclist.  He  stared  with  extraordinary  intent- 
ness,  making  no  protest  but  following  the  rider  with 
his  eyes.  Slaney,  quite  unconscious  of  any  such  scru- 
tiny, covered  the  remaining  quarter-mile,  and  leaned 
his  bicycle  against  the  post-office,  which  was  the  first 
outlying  house  of  the  hamlet.  He  entered  and  took 
a  telegraph  form.  A  little  out  of  breath,  Slaney 
spent  some  appreciable  time  and  thought  in  concoct- 
ing his  message,  which  he  handed  to  the  girl  operator. 
She  looked  at  it  with  surprise. 

"What  d'you  call  this?"  she  asked  pertly. 

"  It's  all  right,  miss.  Send  it  just  as  it  is,"  he  said, 
and  paying  the  fee  demanded,  went  out.  He  cycled 
back  to  Knayth,  but  saw  nothing  of  the  man  he  had 
passed  on  the  way  out,  and  who,  doubtless,  was 
already  through  the  village.  Slaney  took  no  interest 


56     THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

in  him.     His  own  heart  was  bursting  with  the  joy  of 
a  great  achievement. 

"The  best  day's  work  ever  done  for  Callaghan!" 
said  Slaney  with  a  chuckle. 

It  was  some  ten  minutes  later  when  the  tall 
stranger  emerged  from  under  the  hedge  and  again 
tramped  forward  along  the  dusty  road  at  the  same 
even,  unhurrying  pace.  Though  elderly,  with  a 
fringe  of  grey  hair  over  his  temples,  he  held  himself 
erect,  with  a  soldierly  carriage.  Despite  a  shabby 
attire,  he  had  the  look  of  one  accustomed  to  com- 
mand; his  features  were  distinguished,  the  mouth 
slightly  cruel,  a  grey,  pointed  beard  grew  on  his  chin. 
His  eyes  were  of  a  faded  blue,  looking  straight  ahead 
of  him  with  a  sheathed,  brooding  stare. 

He  turned  into  the  post-office,  and  in  a  pleasant 
voice  asked  the  girl  for  two  penny  stamps. 

"Not  much  business  to  trouble  you  here?"  he 
said,  smiling  as  he  took  them. 

"Very  little  indeed,  sir,"  she  said,  adding  the 
"sir"  unconsciously,  in  spite  of  his  seedy  clothes. 
"Though  I've  had  a  job  just  now,"  she  added  tartly, 
"that's  more  like  a  Chinese  puzzle  than  anything — " 
the  girl  checked  herself,  as  if  remembering  her  official 
position.  ' '  Anything  else  you  want  ? ' ' 

"I  should  like,"  said  the  stranger,  with  a  glance 
round  that  took  in  every  detail  of  the  shop,  "a  packet 
of  'Union  Jack'  tobacco.  I  think  I  see  some  on  the 
top  shelf  there." 

The  girl  had  to  get  a  chair  in  order  to  reach  it. 
While  her  back  was  turned  the  stranger,  with  remark- 


THE  CODE  TELEGRAM  57 

able  deftness,  slipped  his  long  brown  hand  under  the 
wire  post-office  screen  and  abstracted  a  telegram  from 
the  top  of  the  file.  It  was  out  of  sight  long  before 
the  girl  descended.  He  paid  for  the  tobacco,  thanked 
her  politely,  and  went  out. 

A  little  way  out  of  the  hamlet  the  tall  stranger 
seated  himself  against  a  fence  and  smoothed  out  the 
telegram  form.  It  certainly  read  a  little  peculiarly 
for  a  village  post-office. 

MISLED,  LONDON. 

ZSIP  ILXO  7  BQXX  X  MIVEOWF  QC  WFO 
WIMMESQS  FOQXOQOCC. 


The  stranger's  brows  contracted,  but  a  grim  smile 
twisted  his  mouth.  Using  a  stub  of  pencil  he  began 
slowly,  and  with  evidently  an  effort  of  memory,  to 
jot  down  fresh  letters  underneath  the  apparently 
meaningless  forms  given  above. 

Towards  the  end  of  the  task  the  pallor  of  his  face 
heightened,  a  deadly,  threatening  light  crept  into  his 
eyes,  and  his  teeth  shut  together  with  a  sharp  click. 

MISLED,  LONDON. 

JOAN  AYRE,  7  FIRR  ROAD,  LAMBETH,  IS 
THE  TALLBOIS  HEIRESS. 


CHAPTER  VI 

IN  THE  NAME  OF  CHARITY 

JOAN'S  slim  figure  retreated  down  the  long  park 
drive  of  Knayth,  between  the  bordering  oaks. 

She  was  returning  to  the  work-a-day  world  after 
an  hour  of  wonders ;  her  head  was  confused  with  the 
beauty  and  the  charm  that  had  been  revealed  to  her. 
Running  through  it  like  a  silver  thread  was  a  sense  of 
subdued  laughter.  She  wondered  if  the  old  Tallbois 
had  turned  in  their  graves — and  particularly  Cellini, 
that  supreme  artist  and  supreme  scoundrel  of  bygone 
Italy,  at  the  thought  that  his  most  cunning  secret 
had  been  solved  by  an  obscure  little  waif  of  modern 
London.  Did  he  look  up  at  her,  perhaps,  from  the 
smoking  underworld  of  Dante's  hell,  a  curse  in  his 
eyes?  For  a  curse,  too,  haunted  Joan — the  gilded 
curse  of  imagination. 

Near  the  park  gates  she  turned  for  a  lingering  fare- 
well look  at  the  stately  pile  of  Knayth,  towering 
above  the  trees.  She  was  reluctant  to  leave  it.  And 
there  was  another,  near  by,  who  seemed  to  find  it  as 
fascinating  as  she. 

In  the  roadway,  leaning  upon  the  fence,  was  a 
shabby  man  with  a  neat,  pointed  beard.  His  chin 
rested  on  his  hands,  and  his  eyes — remarkable  eyes, 
with  the  same  unmoved  stare  in  them  that  is  seen  in 

58 


IN  THE  NAME  OF  CHARITY  59 

the  eyes  of  a  falcon,  were  fixed  on  the  distant  towers 
and  windows  of  Knayth,  as  though  they  held  him 
with  some  hidden  spell.  His  face  was  drawn  and 
bloodless.  , 

But  as  Joan  approached  the  gates,  he  turned  his 
gaze  upon  her  and  held  it  there  as  though  Knayth 
were  suddenly  forgotten.  He  remained  motionless, 
but  his  fierce  eyes  dwelt  on  her  face  with  an  expres- 
sion so  strange  and  intense  that  it  was  as  though,  with 
an  effort  of  will,  he  were  beseeching  the  girl  to  turn 
and  look  at  him.  And  Joan  turned  her  head. 

She  saw  nothing  more  than  a  tramp  leaning  upon  a 
fence.  He  was  under  the  shadow  of  a  dark  cedar  tree 
that  overhung  the  road.  She  was  barely  conscious 
of  his  presence,  and  still  deep  in  thought  Joan  passed 
through  the  gates  and  down  the  slope  of  the  dusty  road. 

At  the  bend,  half-way  down  the  hillside,  Joan 
paused  at  a  field-gate.  Cows  were  cropping  con- 
tentedly among  the  buttercups.  Through  the  plains 
below,  shimmering  in  the  mid-day  heat,  the  river 
wound  like  a  silver  snake.  In  the  distance,  a  moving 
feather  of  white  steam  marked  a  train  that  was  hurry- 
ing Londonwards.  Joan's  thoughts  went  back  to 
the  moving  incidents  of  the  past  forty-eight  hours, 
and  gave  a  little  sigh. 

"  I  must  wake  up,"  she  said  aloud,  "or  I  shall  think 
that  I  am  living  in  dreamland." 

She  turned,  and  with  a  slight  start  saw  that  she 
was  not  alone.  The  tall  tramp  who  had  stood  by 
the  gates  of  Knayth  was  approaching  her.  Walking 
slowly,  holding  himself  very  erect,  he  came  straight 
up  to  Joan  and  halted  within  six  feet  of  her. 


6o     THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

The  place  was  lonely.  Joan's  heart  gave  a  strange 
flutter  of  anxiety.  The  man  did  not  speak. 

"What  do  you  want?"  she  forced  herself  to  say. 

The  tramp  took  off  his  hat,  showing  a  head  of  short 
grizzled  hair. 

"Could  you,"  he  said,  in  a  gentle,  rather  strained, 
voice,  "could  you  spare — a  trifle,  even  the  smallest 
coin,  for  a  man  who  has  walked  far,  and  is — very 
down  on  his  luck?" 

His  voice  hesitated,  and  seemed  to  tremble  a  little. 
Joan  guessed  that  he  was  not  used  to  begging;  it 
came  hard  to  him.  She  took  out  her  worn  little 
purse.  It  contained  one  note,  a  half-crown,  and  a 
penny.  She  could  not  offer  him  the  penny.  But  the 
half-crown  was  a  serious  matter  to  Joan.  She  took 
it  out,  none  the  less. 

"No!  no!"  said  the  man  hastily,  raising  his  hand 
in  protest.  "Neither  of  us,  surely,  is  rich — I  must 
not  deprive  you  of  so  much.  Give  me  any  little  coin 
— no  matter  how  trifling." 

A  beggar  who  complained  of  the  largeness  of  his  dole 
was,  to  Joan,  a  thing  incredible.  Yet,  somehow,  she 
did  not  feel  any  surprise.  She  discovered  an  unsus- 
pected sixpence  in  the  lining  of  the  purse,  and  gave 
him  that.  He  accepted  it  with  a  grave  bow  and  a 
murmur  of  gratitude. 

"A  lucky  sixpence,  I  hope,"  said  Joan,  smiling  at 
him. 

"  Lucky,  it  may  be,  for  both  of  us,"  he  replied. 

Joan  became  aware  that  he  was  looking  down  at 
her,  from  the  height  of  his  six  feet,  with  the  strangest 
intentness.  His  pale  blue  eyes  seemed  to  devour  her 


IN  THE  NAME  OF  CHARITY  61 

face;  he  did  not  move,  yet  appeared  to  be  keeping 
a  strict  restraint  on  himself.  The  long,  slim  hand 
that  clutched  the  sixpence,  shook  very  faintly.  And 
Joan  herself  was  aware  of  a  slight,  undefined  tremb- 
ling. She  was  not  afraid.  In  ordinary  circum- 
stances, such  a  meeting  with  a  powerful  tramp  in  a 
lonely  spot  would  have  frightened  her  badly.  Yet 
she  felt  no  fear  at  all,  and  for  some  moments  they 
looked  at  each  other  in  silence.  The  tramp  spoke 
first. 

"You  look  at  me,"  he  said  slowly,  "as  though  you 
thought  you  knew  me." 

Joan  shook  her  head. 

"You  remind  me,"  she  said,  "just  a  little,  of  some 
one  I  knew  when  I  was  quite  a  small  girl." 

A  vague  remembrance  flitted  through  Joan's  mind, 
across  the  years,  of  one  whom  she  had  known  as 
"Uncle  Jim,"  in  childhood. 

"A  fortunate  man,"  said  the  tramp,  "wherever  he 
be,  to  have  remained  in  the  memory  of  so  charming 
a  little  lady." 

"He  is  dead,"  replied  Joan  quietly.     "Long  ago." 

The  tramp  inclined  his  head. 

"Death,"  he  said,  "must  come  to  us  all.  Believe 
one  who  knows — there  are  many  worse  things  than 
death." 

Suddenly  he  came  a  step  nearer  to  her.  And  still 
Joan,  her  heart  beating  strangely,  did  not  move.  It 
was  then  that  a  raucous  shout  burst  upon  the  silence. 

' '  Joan — Joan !    Hulloa — hulloa — Joan ! ' ' 

Round  the  corner  of  the  lane  came  Emmie,  Ted 
Hartopp,  and  Alf,  riotous  and  merry.  Alf,  with 


62      THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

wheat-ears  and  poppies  in  his  hat-band,  swinging  his 
concertina. 

The  shabby  stranger  stepped  back.  He  raised  his 
hat  to  Joan  with  a  deep,  courteous  bow. 

"Madam,"  he  said,  "in  the  name  of  Charity — I 
thank  you." 

He  turned,  and  strode  past  the  three  new-comers  as  if 
they  did  not  exist ;  in  a  few  moments  he  was  out  of  sight, 
round  the  bend.  Joan's  friends  swarmed  up  to  her. 

"Why,  Joan!  What  was  old  Weary  Willie  jawing 
about?"  said  Mr.  Ted  Hartopp. 

"  Did  he  interfere  with  you,  Miss  Joan?  "  exclaimed 
Alf  eagerly.  " If  so,  I'll  go  an'  dot  him  one!" 

"  No,  no ! "  replied  Joan  quickly.  "  Nothing  of  the 
kind." 

"I  should  say  it's  just  as  well  we  turned  up,"  said 
Emmie;  "that  dirty  old  tramp — 

For  some  reason  Joan  felt  a  sudden  annoyance. 

' '  He  was  not  dirty ! ' '  she  said  crisply.  ' '  I  feel  sure 
he  was  no  ordinary  tramp.  I  felt  very  sorry  for 
him.  There  was  good  in  that  man.  I  liked  his  face." 

"Liked  it!"  exclaimed  Emmie.  "You're  crazy, 
Joan!  He's  got  villain  written  all  over  him.  I 
wouldn't  like  to  meet  that  man  on  a  dark  night !  As 
for  the  face,  I  saw  it  when  he  was  passin'  us.  It  was 
the  face  of  a  devil!" 

Joan  laughed,  and  making  no  answer,  drew  her 
arm  through  Emmie's ;  the  four  of  them  strolled  down 
the  hill  together. 

"We've  had  a  jolly  time,  us  three,"  said  Emmie. 
"What  have  you  been  doin',  Joan?  You  said  you 
were  going  to  stay  in  the  house." 


IN  THE  NAME  OF  CHARITY  63 

"My  headache  got  better,"  said  Joan.  "I  wan- 
dered out  by  myself  and  thought  I  would  like  to  see 
Knayth  Abbey.  On  Mondays,  they  let  you  in  for  a 
shilling.  I  went  all  over  it,  and  never  saw  anything 
more  lovely  in  my  life." 

Emmie's  snub  nose  wrinkled  up  in  contempt. 

"If  that's  your  idea  of  a  frolic,  dear,  you're  wel- 
come," she  said. 

"That  big  place  on  the  hill,"  put  in  Alf,  "belonged 
to  some  heavy  swells,  didn't  it?  I  heard  they'd  all 
died  out,  though." 

"No  loss,  either,"  replied  Emmie,  her  face  darken- 
ing. ' '  If  all  the  heavy  swells  in  the  country  did  the 
same  I  shouldn't  miss  'em." 

"Sayings  of  Emmie  the  Anarchist,  Number  One!" 
said  Mr.  Hartopp  facetiously.  "Well,  I  s'pose  we'd 
better  have  dinner  an'  pack  up.  It's  little  old  Lon- 
don for  us,  worse  luck,  by  the  five  train." 

They  returned  to  the  little  farm-house,  and  after 
the  mid-day  meal,  the  girls  put  their  few  belongings 
together.  Joan  obtained  a  large  cardboard  box,  and 
packing  the  Worth  frock  with  great  care,  addressed 
it  to  Lady  Eileen  Kinloch,  Grosvenor  Square.  She 
saw  it  go  with  a  pang  of  regret.  Never  again  would 
she  wear  so  wonderful  a  dress. 

The  journey  to  London  was  a  little  constrained; 
Alf  Blodmore  was  silent,  grave,  and  shy.  Joan  did 
her  best  to  treat  the  incident  of  the  night  before  as 
though  it  had  not  happened.  She  was  very,  very 
sorry  for  him,  though  she  could  not  believe  that  any 
one  could  be  seriously  unhappy  about  her.  The  two 
young  men  insisted  on  providing  supper  at  a  little 


64     THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

restaurant  in  Battersea,  and  afterwards  escorted  the 
girls  to  their  home,  bidding  them  farewell  at  the  door. 
Ted  embraced  Emmie  affectionately  and  openly.  Alf 
Blodmore  took  Joan's  hand  in  his  large  paw. 

"I'm  sorry  I  worried  you,  Miss  Joan,"  he  said 
huskily.  "You'll  remember,  if  ever  you  want  a 
friend,  there  ain't  nothing  I  wouldn't  do  for  you,  all 
the  same." 

"Thank  you,  Alf,"  said  Joan  gently.  The  girls 
went  upstairs  and  prepared  to  retire.  Joan  donned  a 
dressing-gown,  and  sat  down  for  some  time  before  the 
open  window,  musing. 

"What  are  you  looking  at?"  said  Emmie,  joining 
her  presently.  A  dim,  tall  figure,  no  more  than  a 
shadow  in  the  gloom,  was  just  visible  far  below  on  the 
opposite  pavement.  ' '  Who's  that  down  there  ?  " 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Joan  absently.  The  vague 
shadow  reminded  her,  somehow,  of  one  whom  she  had 
seen  before  that  day,  and  called  up  vagrant  thoughts. 

"Come  to  bed,"  said  Emmie,  drawing  her  away 
from  the  window.  "You'll  catch  cold,  dear." 

Down  in  the  street,  the  man  stood  in  the  shadow 
who  was  looking  up  at  the  little  top-floor  window 
with  watchful,  longing  eyes.  It  was  the  tall  tramp 
who  had  met  Joan  below  the  gates  of  Knayth.  For 
a  long  time  he  remained  there,  even  after  the  light 
was  extinguished,  and  the  window  was  in  darkness. 
It  was  as  though  he  could  not  force  himself  to  leave. 

The  heavy  footfall  of  a  patrolling  constable  made 
itself  heard.  The  shabby  stranger  glanced  over  his 
shoulder  and,  moving  silently  away,  vanished  down 
a  side-street. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  INCREDIBLE  TIDINGS 

THE  pallid  London  sunlight  was  streaming  in 
through  the  window  as  Joan  and  Emmie  sat  break- 
fasting at  a  rickety  table  next  morning.  A  frowsy, 
but  amiable  charwoman  opened  the  door,  and  with  a 
nod  of  greeting  tossed  a  letter  to  the  girls.  The  long 
blue  envelope  had  arrived  by  the  first  post,  and  was 
addressed  to  Joan. 

She  opened  it,  and  at  once  the  herrings  and  tea 
were  forgotten.  Joan  gazed  at  the  missive  with 
bewildered  eyes. 

"Love-letter,  dear?"  enquired  Emmie  ironically. 

"What  in  the  world  does  this  mean?"  said  Joan, 
handing  her  the  letter.  "It's  some  mistake ! ' ' 

155  Bedford  Row,  W.  C. 

Miss  JOAN  AYRE. 

DEAR  MADAM, — I  have  to  request  that  you  will  favour 
me  by  fixing  an  appointment,  as  early  as  possible,  at  this 
office.  Information  awaits  you  which  I  think  you  will 
find  greatly  to  your  advantage. 

I  am,  Madam, 

Yours  faithfully, 

THEOPHILUS  BELL 

(Solicitor). 
•  65 


66     THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

Emmie  stared  at  the  letter  blankly. 

"It's  a  sell,  if  you  ask  me,"  she  said.  "Why  don't 
he  say  what  he  means?  Think  you'd  better  go, 
Joan?" 

"Go!  Of  course  I  shall  go!"  said  Joan,  whose 
curiosity  was  intensely  aroused.  "Though  I'm  cer- 
tain it's  only  a  blunder." 

"I  hope  it's  nothing  worse,"  rejoined  Emmie 
pessimistically.  "You  be  mighty  careful,  Joan! 
I've  heard  of  funny  things  happening  to  girls  over 
letters  like  this.  Not  but  what  the  address  is 
respectable,"  she  added.  "Bedford  Row — that's 
where  the  lawyers  live.  Commissioner  for  oaths, 
too!  Ted  could  teach  him  a  bit  there!  I've  had 
to  speak  to  Ted  about  that.  Yes,  you'd  better  go. 
Maybe  somebody's  left  you  fifty  pounds!"  pursued 
Emmie,  growing  excited.  ' '  What  luck  if  it  is !  Think 
any  of  your  people  have  hopped  the  twig,  dear?" 

"  I  haven't  a  relative  in  the  world,"  protested  Joan. 
"There's  nobody  who  could  leave  me  anything.  It's 
nonsense!" 

"  Maybe  it's  some  rich  old  lady  whose  pug  dog  you 
once  saved  from  bein'  run  over,"  said  Emmie  sar- 
castically. "I've  read  about  such  things.  Theo- 
philus  Bell!  Sounds  like  a  parson,  don't  it?  Why 
not  ring  him  up  at  the  office  an*  save  writing?  Then 
we'll  both  go  together." 

Joan  caught  at  the  idea  eagerly,  and  the  girls 
started  for  the  City.  They  discussed  the  letter  on 
the  way.  By  this  time,  Joan  had  got  it  firmly  fixed 
in  her  mind  that  the  lawyer  had  fifty  pounds  for  her — 
it  could  not  be  more — and  she  was  as  happy  as  a  child. 


THE  INCREDIBLE  TIDINGS  67 

"What  a  holiday  we'll  have,  Emmie,  if  it's  true!" 
she  said,  her  eyes  sparkling.  "A  new  frock  for  both 
of  us,  and  a  fortnight  by  the  sea!"  Emmie  was  still 
sceptical.  They  reached  the  office  early.  Joan 
looked  up  Mr.  Bell's  number  in  the  telephone  book, 
and  rang  the  Exchange.  The  reply  came  from  Bed- 
ford Row — Joan  said  she  would  be  free  after  6  P.M., 
and  could  Mr.  Bell  see  her  then?  After  a  pause  the 
answer  grated  in  Joan's  ear:  Mr.  Bell  would  be  happy 
to  fix  the  appointment  for  six-thirty.  Business 
would  be  discussed  when  she  arrived.  It  was  settled 
between  the  girls  that  they  should  go  together. 

The  day's  typing  work  dragged  like  lead,  and  Joan 
could  hardly  attend  to  her  typing.  In  the  afternoon 
ill-luck  overtook  them;  a  press  of  work  arrived,  and 
Miss  Puttock  required  Emmie,  whose  turn  it  was,  to 
stay  overtime.  To  refuse  was  impossible,  nor  could 
Joan  put  off  her  appointment ;  there  was  nothing  for 
it  but  to  go  alone.  Joan  set  off  for  Bedford  Row  on 
foot  and  on  the  stroke  of  half -past  six  she  was  mount- 
ing the  stairs  of  one  of  the  old  Georgian  houses  in 
that  secluded  street.  Mr.  Bell's  name  was  painted, 
among  others,  on  a  panel  in  the  hall,  and  appeared 
again  on  a  well-worn  brass  plate  at  the  door  of  his 
office  on  the  second  floor. 

Joan  paused  at  the  door.  There  was  a  curious 
stirring  at  her  heart ;  she  felt  as  though  her  foot  was 
on  the  threshold  of  Fate.  A  little  thrill  of  fear,  a 
desire  to  run  out  of  the  house  and  leave  the  mystery 
unprobed.  Then  she  pulled  herself  together  with  a 
laugh,  and  knocked  sharply  on  the  door. 

A  clerk  admitted  her,  and,  on  hearing  her  name,  at 


68     THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

once  showed  her  into  the  inner  office.  Joan  found 
herself  facing  two  men,  both  of  them  strangers.  One 
was  obviously  Mr.  Bell  himself.  Large,  plump,  and 
snowy-haired,  with  little  white  side-whiskers,  and  an 
extremely  pleasant  and  benevolent  face,  he  reminded 
Joan  more  of  a  clergyman  than  a  lawyer. 

"Miss  Ayre?"  he  enquired. 

"That  is  my  name." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  and  Joan  was  aware 
that  both  men  were  regarding  her  with  a  searching 
glance,  so  keen  and  judging  that  they  reminded  her 
of  buyers  at  a  race-horse  sale. 

"My  dear  young  lady,"  said  Mr.  Bell,  with  a  most 
sympathetic  smile,  "I  think  I  can  promise  you  some 
extremely  good  news.  Allow  me  to  introduce  my 
client,  Mr.  Norman  Vaille." 

Joan  bowed  composedly  to  the  lawyer's  companion 
who  replied  with  grave  courtesy.  Mr.  Vaille  was 
slim,  dark,  and  not  at  all  bad-looking.  He  was  well 
groomed,  and  unmistakably  a  gentleman.  Joan's 
first  impression  was  of  quite  a  young  man.  But  a 
certain  hardness  of  the  eyes,  and  a  network  of  little 
lines  at  their  corners,  suggested  that  he  might  be  over 
forty. 

"Before  we  address  ourselves  to  the  vital  business 
in  hand,"  said  Mr.  Bell,  beaming  on  Joan,  as  he 
placed  a  chair  for  her,  "would  you  mind  answering 
one  or  two  brief  questions  about  yourself,  Miss  Ayre 
— just  to  clear  the  ground,  as  it  were?" 

"Certainly,"  said  Joan,  seating  herself. 

"Your  name  is  Ayre,"  said  Mr.  Bell,  with  a  little 
bow,  and  then  he  paused.  "Has  it  ever  occurred  to 


THE  INCREDIBLE  TIDINGS  69 

you,  Miss  Ayre,  to  ask  yourself  a  question — whether 
Ayre  is,  in  fact,  your  name?  " 

The  query  astonished  Joan  so  much,  and  indeed 
brought  such  a  curious  train  of  thought  into  her 
mind  that,  for  a  moment  she  found  herself  unable  to 
answer.  Mr.  Bell  watched  her  closely. 

4 '  You  will  understand  shortly  my  reason  for  asking, ' ' 
he  said.  "Where  were  you  born,  Miss  Ayre?" 

"In  South  Georgia,  U.  S.  A." 

"And  in  what  town?" 

"It  sounds  absurd,  but  I  really  cannot  tell  you 
exactly  where,"  Joan  replied.  The  questions  were 
puzzling  her,  and  she  flushed  slightly. 

"Tell  us,"  said  Mr.  Bell  pleasantly,  "anything 
you  know  about  your  parents  and  your  early  life. 
You  scarcely  talk  like  an  American." 

"My  mother  was  an  English  emigrant,"  said 
Joan  simply.  "But  she  died  soon  after  I  was  born, 
and  my  father  died  a  year  later.  I  was  brought  up 
and  cared  for  by  a  Scotchwoman,  Janet  Mackellar, 
who  was  very  good  to  me." 

There  was  the  slightest  flicker  in  Mr.  Vaille's  eyes, 
and  the  two  men  glanced  at  each  other. 

"Did  you,  then,  know  of  no  relatives  of  your 
own?"  asked  Mr.  Bell,  leaning  towards  her  slightly. 

Joan  hesitated. 

"There  was  Uncle  Jim,"  she  said.  "James  Lloyd. 
He  used  to  come  and  see  me  at  long  intervals.  Some- 
times he  would  be  away  for  a  year,  or  even  two, 
and  he  never  stayed  long.  Janet  Mackellar  and  I 
moved  about  a  good  deal,  but  he  always  found  us. 
He  was  very  good  to  me  when  he  did  come,  and  I 


70     THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

always  knew  him  as  'Uncle  Jim.'  Janet  told  me  one 
day  that  he  was  not  my  uncle;  but  that  was  after 
I  lost  sight  of  him  for  good." 

"And  how,"  asked  Mr.  Bell  gently,  "did  you 
come  to  lose  sight  of  Uncle  Jim?" 

Again  Joan  paused. 

"Janet  disliked  him,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice.  "I 
was  sorry,  because  I  was  fond  of  him,  though  I  saw 
him  so  seldom.  But  somehow  she  disliked  him,  and 
she  hated  to  see  him  with  me.  I  think  that  is  why 
we  left  America.  We  went  to  Charleston  when  I 
was  seventeen,  where  I  learned  shorthand  and 
typewriting,  and  then  Janet  brought  me  to  London, 
just  before  the  war.  She  died  eighteen  months 
later,"  added  Joan  sadly,  "and  I  was  left  quite  alone. 
Luckily,  thanks  to  her  care  and  kindness,  I  had  a 
trade,  and  could  earn  my  own  living.  She  told  me, 
after  we  had  been  in  London  some  time  that," 
concluded  Joan,  "  Uncle  Jim  was  no  uncle  of  mine 
— and  that  he  was  dead." 

' '  She  was  right, ' '  said  Mr.  Bell.  ' '  My  dear  young 
lady,  she  was  right  on  both  points,  though,  I  think, 
upon  the  second  point  the  wish  was  father  to  the 
thought.  I  doubt  if  she  could  know  that  he  was 
dead.  He  was,  however,  killed  in  the  War,  in  the 
year  1918.  And  he  was  not  your  uncle." 

Joan  looked  at  him  with  startled  eyes. 

"What  does  all  this  mean,  please,"  she  exclaimed. 
"And  what  do  you  know  about  it?" 

Instead  of  answering,  Mr.  Bell  opened  a  portfolio 
and  placed  in  her  hands  a  photograph,  very  old  and 
faded,  of  a  young  man.  The  face  was  strikingly 


THE  INCREDIBLE  TIDINGS  71 

handsome,  the  nostrils  well  chiselled,  the  forehead 
high.  The  eyes  were  set  rather  too  close  together, 
but  were  very  steady  and  bright. 

"Does  that  remind  you,  in  any  way,  of  'Uncle 
Jim'?"  enquired  Mr.  Bell,  quietly. 

Joan  shook  her  head,  bewildered. 

"No,"  she  replied.  "Uncle  Jim  was  much  older 
than  this,  and  different.  He  had  a  brown  beard,  too; 
sometimes  it  was  cut  short  and  round — at  others, 
when  he  came  to  us,  it  was  trimmed  like  a  naval 
officer's.  Even  the  nose  is  not  the  same.  And 
yet — "  she  looked  closer,  and  hesitated,  "those  are 
strangely  like  his  eyes!" 

"It  may  well  be  so,"  said  Mr.  Bell,  "for  we  have 
every  reason  to  believe  that  this  is  no  other  than  the 
man  you  knew  as  'Uncle  Jim.' " 

' '  Who,  then,  was  he  ? "  cried  Joan,  eagerly.  ' '  And 
what  had  he  to  do  with  me?" 

Mr.  Vaille,  for  the  first  time,  intervened. 

"This  photograph,"  he  said,  in  a  grave,  fluent 
voice,  "is  a  portrait  of  Walter  Travers  Tallbois, 
grand-nephew  of  the  eighth  Lord  Tallbois,  and 
second  cousin  of  the  late  peer.  I  knew  Walter 
Tallbois  slightly,  and  was  at  Oxford  with  him.  He 
came  to  grief — a  rather  serious  youthful  indiscretion 
he  was  led  into — and  was  sent  by  his  family  to 
Florida.  His  ship  never  arrived,  she  was  lost  with  all 
hands,  and  Walter  Tallbois  was  presumed  dead. 

"None  the  less,"  continued  Mr.  Vaille,  impres- 
sively, "I,  who  knew  him,  have  clues  in  my  posses- 
sion which  lead  me  to  believe  that  Walter  Tallbois 
did  not  die — that  he  survived,  and  for  reasons  best 


72     THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

known  to  him,  decided  to  bury  his  past,  to  change  his 
name,  and  sink  his  former  identity  for  ever.  Also, 
that  he  survived  many  years,  and  that  he  married,  in 
America,  a  lady  named  Helen  Lloyd " 

A  stifled  gasp  rose  in  Joan's  throat.  She  trembled 
faintly. 

" — By  whom  he  had  an  only  daughter, ' '  pursued  Mr. 
Vaille.  "After  his  wife's  death  he  had,  as  many  men 
do  in  the  West,  a  somewhat  chequered  career,  never 
revealing  his  identity,  and  finally  met  a  soldier's  end 
in  France. ' '  Mr.  Vaille  paused.  ' '  He  was  almost  the 
last  of  that  ancient  race,  for  the  heirs  of  the  late  Lord 
Tallbois  also  fell  in  the  war.  He  was  your  father." 

Mr.  Theophilus  Bell  stood  up. 

"If  this  is  true,  as  I  firmly  believe  it  to  be,"  he  said 
quietly,  "you,  madam,  are  the  legal  heiress  to  both 
title  and  estates — Viscountess  Tallbois  of  Knayth." 
He  bowed  gravely. 

Joan  rose  to  her  feet.  Her  head  was  swimming, 
and  her  pulses  beat  fast.  The  thing  was  incredible 
at  first.  And  yet  the  truth  of  it  seemed  to  shine  out 
through.  To  crown  it  came  the  memory  of  yester- 
day's wonderful  visit  to  Knayth  Abbey.  She  sank 
down  again  in  the  chair,  and  drew  the  portrait  to- 
wards her,  her  eyes  wet. 

"My  father!"  she  murmured. 

The  sinister,  hawk-like  eyes  stared  back  at  her 
from  the  faded  portrait. 

"Is  it  certain,"  asked  Joan  slowly,  looking  up  at 
the  two  men,  "that  my — that  William  Tallbois,  of 
whom  you  speak,  is  dead?" 


THE  INCREDIBLE  TIDINGS  73 

"Absolutely  certain,"  replied  Mr.  Bell  sympatheti- 
cally. "His  name  is  on  the  roll  of  honour  of  the 
Foreign  Legion  in  France.  His  grave  is  in  the 
Argonne." 

Joan  found  a  difficulty  in  speaking. 

"And  you  have  found  me — and  called  me  here  to 
tell  me  this?"  she  said,  gratefully  looking  at  the  two 
men.  "How  can  I  thank  you?" 

Mr.  Norman  Vaille  smiled. 

"That,  my  dear  madam,  can  be  arranged,"  he 
said. 

"A  word  of  warning,"  said  Mr.  Bell,  holding  up 
his  plump  white  hand.  "You  must  not  regard  this 
claim  already  as  an  accomplished  fact,  Miss  Ayre. 
Forgive  me  that  I  call  you  Miss  Ayre — but  for  the 
present  it  will  be  convenient.  We  must  look  things 
in  the  face.  The  difficulties  are  great — enormous. 
William  Tallbois  has  been  legally  presumed  dead  for 
twenty-one  years.  His  survival  has  to  be  proved ;  his 
marriage  also.  It  has  to  be  proved  that  you  are  the 
child  of  that  marriage.  It  must  be  shown,  beyond 
doubt,  that  William  Tallbois  was  the  man  who  died 
in  France. 

"These  things  have  to  be  made  clear  by  legal 
evidence.  Do  not  let  me  discourage  you — it  will  be 
done.  Already,  Mr.  Vaille  holds  many  of  the  proofs. 
But  to  obtain  those  which  are  vital,  to  search  out 
missing  truths,  and  present  a  case  which  will  make 
the  claim  good  at  law — all  this  may  cost  thousands 
of  pounds.  At  the  least  estimate,  the  expenses  will 
be  great." 

loan's  face  fell. 


74     THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

"  I  have  no  money  at  all ! "  she  faltered. 

"Do  not  let  that  trouble  you  for  a  moment,"  said 
Mr.  Bell,  with  a  beaming  smile.  "  Money  is  at  your 
disposal.  Mr.  Vaille  will  provide  all  that  is  necessary . 
But,  of  course,  he  expects  to  be  recouped." 

"I  will  be  perfectly  frank  with  you,  Miss  Ayre," 
said  Vaille.  "I  am  very  far  from  being  a  rich  man — 
though  I  have  some  money.  It  is  eighteen  months 
since  I  stumbled  across  the  track  of  this  amazing 
story.  I  am  perfectly  certain,"  he  said  slowly, 
emphasizing  his  words,  "that  there  was  no  one  living, 
save  myself,  in  a  position  to  trace  those  clues,  and 
discover  the  truth  of  them.  There  is  no  one,  also, 
with  the  means  of  following  them  to  a  successful  con- 
clusion. During  all  that  time  I  have  been  seeking  the 
facts — with  success,  though  there  is  much  more  to  be 
done — and  also  seeking  you,  who  had  so  completely 
disappeared.  I  have  expended  a  considerable  sum 
of  money,  and  if  this  is  to  go  forward,  must  expend 
much  more.  It  will  be,  indeed,  a  pride  and  pleasure 
to  have  so  great  a  hand  in  bringing  about  this  act  of 
justice,  and  winning  for  you  the  splendid  position 
which  is  yours  by  right.  But  I  expect  to  gain  by  it — 
and  not  to  lose." 

Joan  understood. 

' '  Of  course ! ' '  she  said  warmly.  ' '  That  is  right  and 
fair.  All  my  life  I  might  never  have  known  anything 
of  this.  If  I  win,"  she  said,  her  eyes  sparkling,  "I 
should  consider  no  recompense  too  great  for  those  who 
had  helped  me!" 

"The  sentiment  does  you  honour,  madam,"  said 
Mr.  Bell  soothingly,  "but  let  me,  as  an  old- 


THE  INCREDIBLE  TIDINGS  75 

established  lawyer,  urge  upon  you  the  need  of  having 
this  matter  down  in  black  and  white.  In  clear  legal 
form,  so  that  your  liability  may  not  be  too  great, 
and  you  will  know  just  how  you  stand.  Here  is 
a  brief  agreement,  which  I  have  drawn  to  Mr. 
Vaille's  instructions,  and  it  only  requires  your 
signature." 

"Without  it,"  added  Mr.  Vaille,  quietly,  "nothing 
can  be  done." 

Joan  drew  the  paper  towards  her.  It  was  singu- 
larly clear  and  short,  for  a  legal  document. 

"I,  Joan  Ayre,  spinster,  believing  myself  to  have 
some  claim  on  the  Tallbois  title  and  estates,  hereby 
agree  to  entrust  into  the  hands  of  Norman  Vaille, 
Esquire,  of  200  Park  Street,  W.,  or  such  others  as 
shall  be  appointed  by  him,  the  collection  and  formu- 
lation of  such  evidence  as  it  may  be  possible  to  obtain 
for  the  preferment  of  this  claim,  and  its  successful 
establishment  at  law. 

"Furthermore,  I  agree  to  pay  the  said  Norman 
Vaille,  his  executors  or  assigns,  the  sum  of  £30,000 
within  one  month  of  the  date  when  I  shall  enter  into 
legal  possession  of  the  said  estates. 

"The  said  Norman  Vaille  shall  bear  all  charges, 
legal  and  other,  which  may  be  incurred  in  connection 
with  this  claim,  provided  that  such  charges  are 
incurred  with  his  consent.  The  sum  of  £30,000 
stated  above,  shall  be  held  to  cover  all  such  charges, 
for  which  no  further  claim  shall  be  made. 

' '  In  the  event  of  failure  to  establish  my  claim,  it  is 
agreed  that  I  am  under  no  liability  whatsoever  to  the 


76     THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

aforesaid  Norman  Vaille,  who  shall  himself  bear  all 
costs,  disbursements,  and  monetary  loss." 

' '  There ! ' '  said  Mr.  Bell  blandly.  ' '  Does  not  that 
commend  itself  to  you?  Mr.  Vaille  takes  the  whole 
risk — the  complete  expense,  however  great.  Should 
you  fail,  you  lose  not  a  penny.  If  you  win,  he  will  be 
moderately  well  recouped.  My  dear  lady,  are  not 
these  terms  generous?" 

"Y — Yes,"  murmured  Joan  dizzily.  "But — 
thirty  thousand  pounds!"  The  mere  sound  of  such 
a  sum  appalled  her. 

"Madam,"  said  Mr.  Vaille  a  little  coldly,  "the 
probate  value  of  the  Tallbois  estate  is  over  a  million 
sterling.  There  will  certainly  be  an  income  accumu- 
lation in  cash,  besides,  of  over  £100,000.  And 
£30,000  is  not  three  per  cent  on  the  whole.  I  stand 
to  lose  the  few  thousands  I  possess.  From  my  point 
of  view  it  is  a  gamble — but  I  am  a  gambler.  As  for 
you,  in  the  language  of  the  race-course,  you  are  'on' 
a  million  to  nothing. 

"A  million!"  said  Joan.  She  paused  irresolute. 
The  memory  of  Knayth  came  back  to  her;  the  spread- 
ing acres — the  splendour  of  the  halls  of  her  ancestors. 
Her  eyes  shone. 

Joan  took  up  the  pen,  and  with  a  firm  hand  wrote 
her  signature  at  the  foot  of  the  document. 

Mr.  Vaille  drew  the  deed  to  him,  and  added  his 
own  name.  Mr.  Theophilus  Bell,  who  had  called  in 
his  clerk  to  witness  the  signatures,  now  dismissed 
him.  The  two  men  drew  a  quick,  faint  breath  of 
relief. 


THE  INCREDIBLE  TIDINGS  77 

"My  dear  young  lady,"  said  Mr.  Bell,  with 
enthusiastic  kindness,  "let  me  congratulate  you  on 
what,  I  am  sure,  is  the  greatest  day  of  your  life  till 
now.  It  will  be  followed  by  a  day  still  greater.  To 
prove  to  you  the  confidence  we  have  in  your  ultimate 
success,  and  assure  your  present  happiness  of  mind, 
Mr.  Vaille  has  expressed  his  willingness  to  make  you 
an  actual  advance  in  money — just  to  confirm  the 
understanding  between  us.  In  a  few  months  we 
expect  victory.  In  the  meantime,  it  is  not  right  that 
Lady  Tallbois  should  feel  the  pinch  of  circumstances. 
We  beg  your  acceptance  of  this." 

He  passed  across  to  her  a  cheque  for  £300,  drawn 
by  Norman  Vaille. 

Joan  stared  at  it  and  flushed  slightly.  She  shook 
her  head. 

"I  cannot  take  this,"  she  said. 

"But  why  not?"  persisted  Mr.  Bell  earnestly. 
"  It  is  only  to  be  repaid  in  the  event  of  your  success, 
and  soon  it  will  be  your  own.  We  should  not  offer 
it,  if  we  were  not  sure.  Think  of  all  you  can  do  with 
£300." 

The  cheque  fascinated  Joan.  She  was  only 
human.  The  thought  of  all  she  could  do  for  Emmie 
and  others  who  had  been  kind  to  her  and  were  in  need 
made  her  eyes  sparkle.  After  all,  if  these  men  were 
so  sure,  why  should  she  hesitate?  Joan  accepted 
the  cheque,  and  signed  a  brief  deed,  much  simpler 
than  the  other,  providing  for  the  return  of  it,  without 
interest,  when  she  came  into  her  own.  The  slightest 
flicker  of  a  glance  passed  between  the  two  men,  as  she 
took  the  cheque. 


78     THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

"And  now,"  said  Joan,  pleadingly,  "tell  me  one 
thing,  please.  It  is  not  only  this  wonderful  inheri- 
tance that  I  am  interested  with.  I  want  to  hear 
more  about  my  father!" 

Mr.  Bell  held  up  his  hand  with  a  grave,  sympathe- 
tic smile. 

"My  dear  young  lady,"  he  said,  "this  must  be  for 
the  near  future.  Mr.  Vaille  is  still  seeking.  When 
his  facts  are  marshalled,  he  will  be  able  to  tell  you 
what  you  wish  to  know." 

"You  will,  madam,"  said  Mr.  Vaille  blandly, 
"learn  a  good  deal  about  your  father  before  you  are 
much  older." 

"And  in  the  meantime,"  said  Mr.  Bell,  rising,  "we 
must  go  forward  with  no  delay.  We  shall  work 
tirelessly  in  your  interest.  And  a  word  of  warning. 
It  will  be  as  well  for  the  present  to  keep  this  affair 
as  much  as  possible  to  yourself." 

"You  would  else  be  persecuted,  madam,"  said  Mr. 
Vaille,  "by  a  venal  and  sensation-mongering  Press, 
which  would  cause  you  humiliation  and  annoyance, 
and  obstruct  the  difficult  work  that  has  to  be  done." 

"As  soon  as  the  time  is  ripe,"  concluded  Mr.  Bell, 
"a  barrister  will  be  briefed,  who  will  conduct  your 
case  to  a  rapid  and  triumphant  climax."  Joan  was 
courteously  conducted  to  the  door  by  the  two  gentle- 
men. "Sooner  even  than  you  anticipate,  you  will 
take  your  rightful  place  among  your  peers — Lady 
Tallbois  of  Knayth,"  said  Mr.  Bell,  beaming  upon  her 
as  he  pressed  her  hand,  ' '  till  then  we  shall  be  in  daily 
touch  with  you.  Good-bye,  my  dear  young  lady, 
good-bye — good-bye ! " 


THE  INCREDIBLE  TIDINGS  79 

Joan  found  herself  alone  in  the  ancient  thorough- 
fare of  Bedford  Row,  wondering  whether  she  stood 
on  her  head  or  heels. 

For  some  time  she  walked  westwards  through  the 
streets  like  one  in  a  dream,  often  nearly  colliding  with 
irritated  passers-by,  of  whose  persons  and  remarks 
she  was  quite  unconscious.  Her  world  seemed  to 
have  turned  upside  down.  Then  she  was  brought 
back  to  earth,  by  realizing  that  she  was  both  tired 
and  hungry. 

The  Russell  Hotel  was  close  at  hand,  and  it  seemed 
quite  natural  to  enter  the  vast  lounge  and  order  tea. 
That  revived  Joan  and  she  collected  her  faculties. 

A  peeress  of  England,  and  a  millionairess!  She, 
the  little  Lambeth  typist.  Was  it  true,  or  had  she 
fallen  into  a  trance  ?  Joan  took  from  her  purse  the 
folded  cheque.  Three  hundred  pounds!  It  was  as 
wonderful  as  the  rest,  but  it  connected  her  with 
reality.  And  it  was  too  valuable  a  thing  to  carry 
about.  Obeying  a  common-sense  impulse,  Joan 
crossed  to  one  of  the  lounge  writing-desks,  endorsed 
the  cheque,  enclosed  it  in  an  envelope  with  a  note, 
and  addressed  it  to  the  bank  where  she  kept  a  balance 
of  a  few  pounds,  saved  from  her  meagre  salary,  and 
posted  it  at  once  in  the  hotel  letter-box.  Then  Joan 
made  for  Lambeth;  she  felt  that  she  would  explode 
unless  she  conveyed  the  news  quickly.  She  burst 
into  the  shabby  bed-sitting-room. 

"What  was  it,  Joan?"  cried  Emmie,  springing 
up. 

"Three  hundred  pounds!"  gasped  Joan,  between 
laughter  and  tears,  throwing  her  arms  round  Emmie's 


8o     THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

neck.  "And  there's  more  coming.  Emmie,  dear, 
I'm  going  to  give  you  the  time  of  your  life!" 

Emmie's  wonder,  amazement,  and  joy  were  over- 
whelming. But  a  sudden  instinct  of  caution,  of 
which  she  was  a  little  ashamed,  seized  Joan.  She 
remembered  Mr.  Bell's  warning,  and  decided  to  say 
nothing  today,  about  the  Tallbois  inheritance.  It 
was  perfectly  certain  Emmie  would  not  believe  in 
that.  She  would  throw  cold  water  on  the  whole 
thing,  and  it  would  be  more  than  Joan  could  bear. 
Emmie  always  disbelieved  in  everything.  Better 
wait  till  it  was  certain. 

"It  was  from  my  father,  dear,"  said  Joan,  "who 
died  years  ago.  These  people,  who  were  ever  so 
kind,  are  finding  out  more  about  him.  And  I've 
signed  a  paper  they  gave  me." 

Emmie,  after  a  few  eager  questons,  grew  anxious. 

"I  wish  I'd  been  there!"  she  exclaimed.  "Why, 
you've  acted  crazy,  dear!  What  d'you  know  about 
this  chap  Vaille  or  his  lawyer?  You  ought  to  have 
got  a  solicitor  of  your  own  to  go  over  it !  And  this 
before  you  signed  anything." 

"I  haven't  got  one,"  said  Joan,  "and  I  didn't 
think  about  it.  Mr.  Bell  is  acting  for  us  both. 
Everything's  in  my  favour,  and  I'm  sure  he's  all 
right.  I  didn't  see " 

"No!"  retorted  Emmie,  "you  little  simpleton! 
You  didn't  see,  and  you're  not  sure,  and  you  don't 
know  what  to  do!" 

Joan  suddenly  turned  on  Emmie,  her  eyes  shining 
vividly,  and  her  breath  coming  fast. 

"I  know  just  what  I'm  going  to  do,  dear!"  she 


THE  INCREDIBLE  TIDINGS  81 

cried,  and  with  an  impulse  that  would  not  be  denied, 
she  hurried  from  the  house. 

Half-an-hour  later  Joan  stood  on  a  first  floor  in 
Fountain  Court,  and  pressed  the  front-door  bell  of 
Philip  Mottisfont,  Esquire,  barrister-at-law. 

6 


CHAPTER  VIII 
COUNSEL'S  OPINION 

FROM  Emmie  Clegg,  Joan  had  kept  her  secret. 
But,  despite  the  warning  of  Mr.  Bell,  she  had  not 
the  slightest  intention  of  keeping  it  from  Philip 
Mottisfont.  Surely  she  was  entitled  to  the  best 
advice.  And  to  Joan's  mind  there  was  but  one  man 
worth  consulting  at  the  whole  of  the  English  Bar. 

Mottisfont  himself  answered  the  bell,  evidently 
just  about  to  go  out.  He  was  in  evening  dress,  and 
looked  extraordinarily  handsome  and  distinguished. 
When  he  saw  who  his  visitor  was,  for  once  Mottisfont 
was  taken  aback. 

"Miss  Ayre!"  he  exclaimed. 

"I  wish  to  see  you  professionally,  Mr.  Mottisfont," 
said  Joan  gravely. 

Philip  stared. 

"Professionally?"  he  said,  looking  rather  bewil- 
dered. ' '  Please  come  in. ' '  He  showed  Joan  into  the 
front  chamber,  and  set  a  chair  for  her.  She  laid  her 
gloves  on  the  table  with  an  air  of  forced  composure, 
but  her  hands  trembled  slightly. 

"I  have  come,"  she  said,  with  a  smile,  "for  'Coun- 
sel's Opinion.'  That's  what  it's  called,  is  it  not?" 

The  suggestion  was  so  quaint  that  it  seemed  to 
Mottisfont  she  must  have  come  to  amuse  herself  at 

82 


COUNSEL'S  OPINION  83 

his  expense.  He  smiled  back  at  her,  and  answered 
with  a  touch  of  mockery. 

"Are  you  not  aware,  Madam,  that  it  is  usual  to 
apply  to  Counsel  through  a  solicitor?" 

"Does  that  mean  that  you  refuse?"  she  said,  a 
little  haughtily.  Her  cheeks  suddenly  became  tinged 
with  pink. 

"No,  no!"  he  said  hastily.  "I  beg  your  pardon. 
You  want  my  advice  on  something?  I  shall  give  it 
only  too  gladly."  He  seated  himself,  and  allowed 
his  eyes  to  dwell  on  the  exquisite  little  face  that 
looked  up  at  his.  "What  is  it  that  I  can  do?" 

' '  I  have  heard  that  I  have  a  claim  to  an  inheritance. ' ' 

Philip  raised  his  eyebrows. 

"Really?    I  congratulate  you.    What  is  it?" 

"I  learned  today,"  said  Joan  quietly,  "that,  in 
the  eyes  of  the  Law,  I  am  Lady  Tallbois  of  Knayth ; 
the  inheritress  of  the  title  and  estates." 

Mottisfont's  first  thought  was  that  Joan  had  sud- 
denly become  insane.  Then  he  realized  that  she  was 
perfectly  serious,  and  suffering  from  an  intense,  sup- 
pressed excitement.  Before  he  could  say  anything 
Joan  plunged  into  her  tale. 

She  did  not  tell  it  well.  Her  words  stumbled  over 
each  other;  Vaille,  Bell,  and  the  Tallbois  peerage 
were  all  mixed  up  together  in  her  story.  But  Mottis- 
font's keen  ear  caught  the  meaning  of  it,  and  as  he 
listened  his  face  showed  amazement,  incredulity,  and 
when  she  had  finished,  a  fierce  anger.  He  sprang  to 
his  feet. 

"This  is  the  most  infamous  thing  I  ever  heard  of!" 
he  cried  hotly. 


84     THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

1 '  Why  ? ' '  faltered  Joan  aghast .  Mottisf ont  looked 
down  at  her  with  infinite  pity  and  sympathy. 

"Is  it  possible,  Miss  Ayre,  that  you  don't  see  this 
is  a  wicked  hoax!"  he  exclaimed.  "You  are  being 
exploited  by  a  pair  of  scoundrels!  They  are  trying 
to  get  your  money  out  of  you,  if  you  have  any.  The 
thing  is  simply  an  absurdity!  It  is  a  case  for  the 
police.  The  men  ought  to  be  flogged!"  he  said,  with 
a  break  in  his  voice. 

Joan  was  very  pale. 

"Have  I  been  very  foolish?"  she  said  faintly.  "I 
didn't  believe  it  myself,  at  first.  But — there  is  a 
mystery  about  my  father!  And  then  the  photo- 
graph— and  Janet  Mackellar.  There  are  lots  of 
things  that  all  seemed  to  fit  in  so  well " 

Mottisfont  was  startled.  He  saw  how  strung-up 
and  overwrought  she  was.  The  professional  mask 
came  over  his  face,  he  seated  himself,  and  with  his 
arms  on  the  table,  began  to  question  her  skilfully  and 
quietly.  As  a  trained  barrister  knows  how  to  soothe 
and  put  at  ease  an  excited  witness,  so  his  voice 
soothed  Joan.  She  became  calmer,  and  told  her  story 
again.  This  time  she  told  it  well,  omitting  very 
little. 

Philip  listened  with  growing  amazement,  and 
slowly  the  look  in  his  eyes  changed.  At  the  finish 
he  rose  to  his  feet. 

"Good  heavens!"  he  muttered.  For  a  moment 
they  stared  at  each  other  in  silence. 

"There  is  something  in  this ! "  he  said  in  an  altered 
voice.  "I  see  my  way  through  it  now.  Incredible 
though  it  sounds,  I  believe  there  is  truth  in  it."  He 


COUNSEL'S  OPINION  85 

looked  at  Joan  with  something  like  awe.  "You — 
Lady  Tallbois  of  Knayth!" 

His  hands  fell  inert  to  his  sides.  Joan's  violet  eyes 
looked  up  at  him  and  smiled  happily. 

"I  feel  as  if  I  were  living  in  fairyland,"  she  said. 
"I  don't  blame  you  for  disbelieving — even  I  feel 
quite,  quite  sure  now.  I  think,"  she  added,  with  a 
little  laugh,  "it  was  my  wonderful  visit  to  Knayth 
that  brought  it  home  to  me." 

"What  was  that?"  he  asked  quickly. 

Joan  told  him.  Mottisfont  listened  with  the  deep- 
est interest.  He  drew  a  long  breath,  and  sat  back 
in  his  chair. 

"I  think  that  is  the  most  wonderful  thing  of  all!" 
he  said  gazing  at  her.  "You  drank  from  the  Knayth 
Goblet!  I  know  it  well,  and  all  its  history.  You, 
the  heiress  of  the  Tallbois ! "  he  said  softly.  ' '  It  must 
be  inherited  instinct — transmitted  to  you,  perhaps, 
by  a  long  line  of  ancestors  who  knew  and  held  the 
secret.  What  else  could  it  be?  It  is  a  charming 
story — there  is  real  beauty  in  it."  He  sat  up  and 
smiled.  "But  it  is  not  evidence  at  law.  Still,  from 
what  you  have  told  me,  I  believe  you  have  a  good 
chance — I  think  you  might  succeed." 

An  intensely  bitter,  pugnacious  expression  came 
into  his  eyes. 

"Thank  goodness  you  came  to  me!"  he  said,  very 
earnestly.  "For,  right  or  wrong,  you  have  fallen 
among  thieves.  The  conduct  of  these  men  is  abom- 
inable. It  must  be  stopped  instantly!" 

Joan  looked  scared. 

"It  seemed  fair  enough  to  me,"  she  murmured. 


86     THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

"Fair!  Why  this  man  Vaille  is  plainly  an  adven- 
turer, and  his  lawyer  little  better  than  a  knave.  His 
duty  was  to  put  his  information  in  your  hands,  and 
let  you  take  proper  advice.  But  to  entrap  an  unpro- 
tected girl,  and  trick  her  into  such  a  thievish  arrange- 
ment— !"  Mottisfont's  eyes  grew  savage.  "I 
have  a  mind  to  go  and  interview  this  Vaille  with  a 
thick  stick !  That  is  what  he  requires.  Very  luckily 
there's  no  harm  done.  You  want  Counsel's  opinion — 
here  it  is.  That  precious  deed  you  signed  is  not 
worth  the  paper  it's  written  on.  It  is  champerty!" 

"Sham — what?"  asked  Joan,  with  wide-open  eyes. 
He  turned  to  her,  and  they  both  laughed. 

' '  In  English  law  no  one  can  bind  themselves  before- 
hand to  pay  any  money  which  they  may  obtain 
through  a  law  action.  That  is  called  champerty. 
This  Mr.  Bell  knows  it  as  well  as  I  do.  He  would 
be  lucky  if  he  were  not  struck  off  the  Rolls,  should 
he  attempt  it!  No  judge  would  listen  to  him.  Let 
me  see  this  wretched  deed,  Miss  Ayre.  You  have  a 
copy,  of  course?" 

"No,  I  never  thought  of  it." 

Mottisfont  stared  at  her  and  gasped. 

"I'm  afraid,"  said  Joan,  "I've  been  stupid.  You 
must  think  I  need  a  keeper  more  than  a  Counsel — " 
She  broke  off  confusedly  and  blushed.  To  her  sur- 
prise she  saw  Philip  blushing  too.  "But  I  can  re- 
member what  it  said,"  she  added  hurriedly. 

Joan,  who  had  an  excellent  memory,  repeated  the 
gist  of  the  deed,  almost  word  for  word. 

"It  is  cleverly  drawn  up,"  he  said,  frowning,  "yet 
I'm  sure  it  wouldn't  stand — I  could  upset  it  in  five 


COUNSEL'S  OPINION  87 

minutes.  They  wouldn't  get  a  penny.  You  must 
get  clear  of  this  at  once!"  he  said  eagerly.  "It  is 
only  fair,  of  course,  to  tell  them  so  now.  Put  your 
case  in  the  hands  of  an  honest  solicitor." 

Joan's  eyes  were  troubled. 

"But  if  I  did  not  dispute  it?"  she  asked.  "If  I 
chose  to  pay?  Couldn't  I  do  so?" 

"Of  course,"  said  Philip,  with  a  shrug.  "If  you 
contracted  to  pay  the  whole  fortune,  and  did  it,  no 
one  could  prevent  you." 

"Then  I  shall  pay!"  said  Joan,  "and  the  thing 
must  go  forward ;  I  have  given  my  word."  She  lifted 
her  chin  higher,  and  looked  at  him  obstinately.  "If 
I  am  Lady  Tallbois  of  Knayth — or  even  Joan  Ayre, 
typist — there  is  no  question  of  my  going  back  on  it. 
Of  my  own  free  will  I  signed  that  deed.  Law  or  no 
law,  I  shall  hold  by  it!" 

"But  consider!"  protested  Philip.  "Honour  does 
not  bind  you  to  a  swindle  like  that !  It  horrifies  me 
to  think  of  your  being  bound  to  such  people!" 

"Even  if  they  are  what  you  say,"  replied  Joan, 
"and  I  cannot  believe  it — my  answer  is  the  same. 
I  stand  to  lose  nothing,  and  they  have  trusted  me. 
That  is  final." 

Philip  saw  she  was  resolute.  He  could  find  no 
words. 

"But  there  is  a  greater  thing  you  can  do  for  me!" 
said  Joan  earnestly.  "There  will  have  to  be  a  bar- 
rister, will  there  not,  to  present  the  case?  I  would 
rather  have  you  do  it,  if  you  will,  than  any  one  at 
the  Bar.  Will  you  take  it  up,  Mr.  Mottisfont,  and 
fight  it  through  for  me?" 


88     THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

Philip's  eyes  shone.  He  looked  at  her  eagerly. 
What  a  splendid  case  to  appear  in — the  Tallbois 
Claimant  case!  And  Joan — for  whom  he  was  ready 
to  do  anything  on  earth.  Then  his  face  fell. 

"Miss  Joan,  there  is  nothing  that  would  give  me 
such  pleasure !  I  would  rather  lead  in  this  case  than 
any  in  England.  But " — he  looked  at  her  as  proudly 
as  she  herself  had  done  a  moment  ago — "at  present 
you  make  this  impossible!  Do  you  understand  the 
standard  of  the  Bar?  I  couldn't  accept  a  brief  from 
such  a  rogue  as  this  man  Bell — no,  not  if  it  were  to 
save  my  own  neck.  You  must  cut  adrift  from  him ! " 

Joan  shook  her  head  sadly,  and  held  out  her  hand 
to  Philip. 

"Good-bye,"  she  said. 

"You  don't  mean  that!"  he  gasped.  Joan  was 
silent.  She  made  him  open  the  door  for  her. 

"Listen,"  she  said  suddenly,  "I  will  find  a  way 
through  this.  I  have  set  my  heart  on  having  you 
for  Counsel  in  the  Tallbois  case." 

"In  all  the  world  I  ask  nothing  better!"  he  said, 
"but  there  is  only  one  way  in  which  it  can  be  done. 
Do  not  go  yet,  or  at  least  let  me  accompany  you 
back — it  is  late." 

Joan  held  up  her  hand. 

"No!"  she  said,  with  a  charming,  decisive  little 
gesture  of  command.  "This,  Mr.  Mottisfont,  is  a 
purely  professional  visit." 

She  bowed  to  him  formally  and,  with  a  brief  "good 
night,"  walked  sedately  down  the  staircase. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  NEW  JOAN 

THE  next  morning  Joan,  who  had  kept  her  own 
counsel  overnight,  astonished  Emmie  by  donning  her 
best  dress,  a  neat  and  alluring  little  costume  of  pale 
blue  muslin,  which  she  had  not  yet  worn. 

"Hulloa!  Coin'  to  waste  those  glad-rags  on  the 
office,  dear?"  exclaimed  Emmie. 

"I'm  not  going  to  the  office,"  replied  Joan,  with 
a  musical  little  laugh.  "You  may  tell  them  so,  if 
you  like,  Emmie.  I've  better  things  to  do  today, 
and  I'm  going  to  do  them." 

"What!"  gasped  Emmie.  "Joan!  What  am  I 
to  tell  Miss  Puttock,  then?" 

"Anything  you  please,  dear." 

"Why,  she'll  sack  you!"  cried  Emmie,  "as  sure 
as  eggs  are  eggs!" 

Joan  turned  to  her  friend  with  eyes  sparkling  mis- 
chievously, and  a  smile  on  her  lips. 

' '  Then  let  her ! ' '  said  Joan.  ' '  She  has  paid  me  less 
and  worked  me  harder,  because  I'm  a  new-comer, 
than  any  one  else.  Miss  Puttock  has  often  been 
grossly  rude  to  me,  and  refused  abruptly  the  one 
small  favour  I  once  asked  of  her.  I  stood  it  all  quite 
humbly ;  I  bear  her  no  ill-will.  But  there's  something 
in  me  that  declines  absolutely  to  beg  her  for  a  day  off 

89 


90     THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

that  she  will  certainly  not  give.  And  so  I  shall  take 
it." 

Emmie  regarded  her  with  consternation. 

"Do  you  think  three  hundred  pounds  is  going  to 
last  for  ever,  Joan?" 

"It  would  keep  me  for  two  years,  anyhow,"  re- 
turned Joan  briskly.  "If  that  were  all.  But  it 
isn't.  Emmie,  you  needn't  look  at  me  like  that. 
I'm  going  to  be  rich  and  free,  and  I  believe  it  in 
spite  of  anybody  who  doubts  it.  I  feel  it  in  my  bones ! 
There  are  some  things,  dear,  that  I  haven't  even 
dared  to  tell  you,  yet.  But  I  feel  like  a  bird  that  has 
been  uncaged,  and  you  must  let  me  flutter  my  wings. ' ' 

She  strode  to  the  window  and  turned  back  again, 
laughing  to  see  Emmie's  rather  scared  face.  Joan's 
eyes  were  shining,  and  her  cheeks  flushed.  She  was 
as  dainty  and  fascinating  as  ever,  more  so  if  possible, 
and  wore  an  air  of  obstinacy  and  rebellion  that 
Emmie  had  never  before  seen  or  suspected  in  her 
friend. 

"All  my  life  I  have  done  what  other  people  ordered 
me  to  do,"  cried  Joan.  "Now  at  last  I'll  do  what  I 
choose !  I  want  to  know  the  splendour  of  the  world — 
to  travel  among  the  nations  and  the  great  roaring 
cities — to  mix  with  those  who  know  how  to  live.  I 
want  to  taste  the  Wine  of  Life!" 

She  threw  out  her  arms. 

"Come  with  me,  Emmie!  You  are  the  best  little 
friend  I  ever  had.  There  is  more  than  enough  for 
both.  I  tell  you  it  cannot  fail.  Come  with  me  along 
the  primrose  path." 

Emmie  shook  her  head. 


THE  NEW  JOAN  91 

"Not  me,"  she  said  grimly.  "A  pretty  sight  I'd 
be,  with  a  figure  like  mine,  gallivanting  over  prim- 
roses an'  roarin'  cities.  I  don't  know  what  you  mean 
by  the  'Wine  of  Life.'  A  steady  job  with  a  fair 
wage,  an'  a  week-end  at  Margate  now  an'  then  is  my 
mark — and  yours,  too." 

She  rose  abruptly. 

"I  think  you're  crazy,  Joan.  There's  a  funny 
streak  breakin'  out  in  you  today.  I'd  never  have 
suspected  it  of  you!  As  soon  see  a  Sunday-school 
pupil-teacher  goin'  dotty!  Put  on  your  hat  an'  come 
along  to  Puttock  and  Copes." 

But  argument,  reason,  and  entreaty  were  wasted; 
after  some  futile  efforts  Emmie  had  to  give  it  up, 
and  departed  for  the  office,  looking  decidedly  worried 
and  anxious. 

Joan,  left  to  herself,  cleared  the  table  and  began 
hurriedly  to  write  a  couple  of  letters.  They  took  her 
some  time.  Then  she  looked  through  her  belongings 
in  the  housemaid's  chest  of  drawers  she  shared  with 
Emmie,  and  took  counsel  with  herself  before  the 
looking-glass,  and  made  a  face  at  her  reflection. 
Then  she  donned  the  least  distasteful  of  her  two  hats 
and  left  the  house. 

By  tram  and  tube  she  journeyed  from  the  wilds  of 
Lambeth  to  Oxford  Street,  and  in  a  telephone  call- 
office  she  rang  up  Mr.  Theophilus  Bell.  Miss  Joan 
Ayre  desired  to  see  Mr.  Bell,  and  if  possible  Mr. 
Vaille  as  well,  as  soon  as  it  could  be  arranged.  So 
ran  Joan's  message. 

Mr.  Bell,  after  some  delay,  replied  that  he  could 
arrange  for  Mr.  Vaille  to  be  at  the  office  at  a  little 


92     THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

before  six.  He  hoped  that  Miss  Ayre  would  not 
insist  on  it  unless  the  matter  was  urgent.  Joan  re- 
plied that  it  was.  It  seemed  to  her  that  Mr.  Bell's 
voice  over  the  telephone  sounded  rather  anxious. 
Joan  hung  up  the  receiver. 

"I'm  going  to  have  my  own  way,"  she  said  to  her- 
self demurely,  as  she  left  the  call-office.  "  If  a  peeress 
in  her  own  right  can't  do  that,  what  can  she  do?" 

Joan  went  back  to  her  bank,  and  enquired  whether 
she  could  draw  against  the  cheque  that  had  been 
posted  the  night  before.  After  consulting  with  his 
manager,  the  cashier  agreed.  She  wrote  out  a  draft 
for  £40.  And  while  writing  it  Joan  paused  momen- 
tarily to  consider. 

It  occurred  to  her  that  Philip  Mottisfont,  barrister, 
had  not  given  her  any  advice  about  this  three  hun- 
dred pounds.  And  for  the  very  good  reason  that  it 
was  the  one  thing  she  had  forgotten  to  mention  to 
him.  Was  she  doing  a  particularly  unwise  thing? 

But  only  for  a  few  seconds  did  Joan  hesitate.  Had 
they  not  been  absolutely  certain  of  success  they 
would  not  have  advanced  the  money.  And  she  was 
to  pay  them  thirty  thousand !  It  would  be  absurd 
not  to  make  use  of  what  was  in  hand.  Joan  cashed 
the  draft. 

She  left  the  bank  feeling  like  a  child  to  whom  a 
benevolent  uncle  has  given  a  sovereign.  Her  eyes 
shone  softly,  her  cheeks  were  faintly  flushed  pink; 
the  pavements  seemed  to  have  springs  beneath  her 
feet.  The  money  crackled  in  the  little  shabby  purse. 
Joan  bought  a  new  one — a  pretty  little  thing  of 
lizard  skin. 


THE  NEW  JOAN  93 

At  the  first  jeweller's  she  purchased  a  wrist-watch 
for  Emmie.  It  was  a  golden  morning  for  the  eman- 
cipated typist.  All  the  delightful,  attractive  things 
that  for  years  had  been  barred  out  of  her  lif e  by  plate- 
glass  windows  were  now  within  her  reach.  Joan 
bought  some  wonderful  gloves,  a  stole,  shoes  such 
as  she  had  sometimes  dreamed  of,  and  finally  an 
exquisite  little  hat,  the  most  perfect  among  five  that 
had  a  whole  shop  window  to  themselves  in  Regent 
Street. 

She  committed  no  wild  extravagances,  but  all  the 
things  she  bought  were  the  best  of  their  kind,  and 
in  admirable  taste.  Then  Joan  called  a  halt.  She 
lunched  at  a  restaurant  she  would  never  before  have 
thought  of  entering.  The  walls  were  cream  and  old 
gold ;  a  string  band  made  soft  music  behind  a  back- 
ground of  palms. 

There  were  many  present  who  wondered  at  the 
amazing  beauty  of  the  girl  who  sat  alone  at  the  little 
table,  and  whose  glorious  eyes  looked  so  pensive. 
For  of  a  sudden,  as  though  by  some  jarring  chord, 
the  joy  and  novelty  of  it  all  were  blotted  from  Joan's 
mind,  giving  place  to  a  wave  of  sadness  and  doubt. 

"There  is  but  one  thing  on  earth  that  I  want," 
she  said  to  herself.  "Unless  it  conies  to  me,  all  the 
rest  will  be  dust  and  ashes." 

On  the  stroke  of  six,  she  presented  herself  that 
evening  at  the  office  of  Bedford  Row.  Both  gentle- 
men were  there  to  receive  her. 

"Good  evening,  Miss  Ayre,"  said  Mr.  Bell,  with 
a  somewhat  forced  smile. 

Joan  bowed,  a  little  coldly.    It  struck  her  that, 


94     THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

somehow,  they  did  not  look  quite  so  sure  of  them- 
selves as  yesterday.  Mr.  Bell  was  grave,  Mr. 
Vaille's  handsome  nose  seemed  a  little  on  one  side. 
They  gave  the  impression  of  men  who  had  passed 
a  bad  night. 

"I  am  afraid  we  have  no  fresh  news  for  you  as 
early  as  this,"  said  the  lawyer,  with  a  tinge  of  im- 
patience. "Mr.  Vaille  is  working  most  actively." 

"I  am  sure  Mr.  Vaille  will  do  his  utmost," 
answered  Joan,  seating  herself,  "but  I  have  called 
about  quite  a  different  matter.  Thank  you  so  much 
for  according  me  this  interview,  which  is  necessary, 
because  I  want  to  give  you  my  instructions." 

They  both  stared  at  her,  wondering  if  they  had 
heard  aright. 

' '  Your — instructions,  Miss  Ayre  ? ' '  echoed  Mr.  Bell. 

"Yes,"  replied  Joan,  calmly.  "First,  will  you  tell 
me  when,  as  nearly  as  possible — the — the  case  will 
be  ready  for  trial,  or  whatever  it  is  called?" 

' '  No,  madam,  we  cannot.  It  may  take  six  months ; 
it  may  only  take  a  few  weeks,"  said  Vaille.  "There 
are  vital  gaps  which  I  must  fill." 

"But  when  it  is  all  complete,"  persisted  Joan,  "a 
barrister  will  be  needed  to  take  charge  of  the  case, 
and  win  it.  Is  not  that  so?" 

"Precisely,"  said  Mr.  Bell,  smiling.  "And  we 
shall  select  one  who  is  unsurpassed  for  the  business. 
Indeed,  he  is  already  retained." 

"Then  will  you  please  strike  him  out,"  said  Joan 
politely.  "There  is  a  barrister,  one  of  the  cleverest 
at  the  Bar,  whom  I  wish  to  appear  in  this  case,  and 
to  have  charge  of  it — Mr.  Philip  Mottisfont." 


THE  NEW  JOAN  95 

The  two  men  gazed  at  her  with  stupefaction. 

"Philip  Mottisfont,  of  the  Middle  Temple?"  said 
Mr.  Bell. 

"Yes." 

"Out  of  the  question,  Miss  Ayre!"  exclaimed  Mr. 
Bell.  "A  worse  man  could  not  possibly  be  selected. 
A  case  like  this  is  not  in  Mottisfont 's  line  at  all. 
He  is  very  well  in  his  way,  but  a  young  man,  and 
overrated.  We  cannot  afford  to  risk  failure." 

"He  is  not  overrated!"  flashed  back  Joan.  "He 
is  the  cleverest  man  at  the  Bar.  I  wish  him  to  be 
briefed!" 

Vaille  suppressed  an  inward  oath.  There  was  a 
pause.  Mr.  Bell  watched  the  girl  with  keen  eyes, 
and  her  heightened  colour  did  not  escape  him.  After 
a  moment's  hesitation  he  came  close  to  Joan  and 
leaned  upon  the  table. 

"My  dear  young  lady ! "  he  said  in  his  most  father- 
ly voice,  with  his  pleasantest  smile,  "pray  be  guided 
by  me — a  lawyer  of  thirty  years'  standing.  Believe 
that  I  have  your  interests  at  heart,  or  I  should  never 
have  touched  this  case.  Can  you  know  as  much  of 
barristers  as  I?  Counsel  is  invariably  selected  by 
the  solicitor  in  charge,  and  there  are  a  hundred 
reasons  why  I  should  brief  a  man  who  can  ensure 
success.  I  am  sure  you  will  see  as  we  do.  Has  not 
Mr.  Vaille  treated  you  with  the  utmost  generosity?'' 

"I  think,"  said  Vaille  quietly,  "that  Miss  Ayre 
will  know  better  than  to  wreck  her  own  chances." 

He,  too,  came  nearer  to  her.  He  was  standing 
over  her  chair.  There  seemed  to  be  a  covert,  un- 
spoken threat  in  the  attitude  of  the  two  men.  For 


96     THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

the  first  time,  Joan  felt  a  sense  of  uneasiness — a  thrill, 
almost,  of  fear.  She  looked  up  at  them  steadily, 
scanning  their  faces. 

"Did  Mr.  Mottisfont  himself  make  this  sugges- 
tion?" queried  Mr.  Bell  slowly.  "If  so,  it  is  some- 
what curious  conduct  in  a  barrister." 

"He  did  not,"  replied  Joan.  "He  refused  to  have 
anything  whatever  to  do  with  it — as  it  stands  now." 
Mr.  Bell's  eyes  narrowed,  and  he  watched  her  closely. 
"I  do  not  know  much  about  law,  but  surely  the 
difficulty  is  easily  overcome.  You  represent  Mr. 
Vaille,  who  obtains  the  evidence.  I  naturally  ought 
to  have  a  solicitor  to  represent  myself,  and  as  you 
object,  he  will  brief  what  barrister  I  choose." 

There  was  dead  silence. 

"Is  this  wise,  madam?"  said  Vaille  at  last.  "It 
is  I  who  stand  to  lose.  The  case  seems  hardly  worth 
my  attention.  Is  this  Mr.  Mottisfont  a  magician 
that  he  can  procure  proofs  from  empty  air  ?  Without 
my  aid,  there  would  be  no  brief  to  draw  up." 

"You  mean,"  said  Joan,  "that  I  should  lose  my 
peerage,  and  you  your  thirty  thousand.  Perhaps  so. 
But  I  know  quite  well  that  the  bond  I  signed,  Mr. 
Bell,  is  not  valid.  If  at  the  end  I  chose  to  fight, 
any  Court  of  Equity  could  upset  your  claim." 

These  extraordinarily  legal  terms  that  flowed  so 
confidently  from  Joan's  rose-petal  lips  morally  stag- 
gered the  two  men .  Vaille  could  hardly  believe  his  ears. 

"And  yet,"  said  Joan,  turning  in  her  chair  to  face 
him.  "I  will  tell  you  now,  once  and  for  all,  that  I 
shall  hold  to  that  bond,  whatever  happens!  If  I 
win  the  fortune  that  is  my  right  I  will  pay  you  your 


THE  NEW  JOAN  97 

thirty  thousand  pounds  in  full.  I  have  given  my 
word  and  I  shall  keep  it."  She  rose  to  her  feet. 
"But  the  barrister  who  fights  this  case  will  be  Mr. 
Mottisfont,  and  no  other!" 

Vaille  was  about  to  break  out,  but  Mr.  Bell  gave 
him,  behind  Joan's  back,  a  swift  glance  of  warning. 

"My  dear  madam!"  said  Mr.  Bell,  with  his  most 
charming  smile,  "you  must  have  your  way.  I  did 
not  realize  how  you  were  set  upon  it.  We  thank  you 
for  your  expression  of  confidence,  and  we  shall  find 
means  of  arranging  exactly  what  you  desire.  Have 
no  fear — and  give  us  twenty-four  hours." 

Joan  smiled  too,  and  gave  her  hand  to  each  of  them 
in  turn.  But  as  she  was  ushered  out  of  the  door 
she  turned  back. 

"I  thank  you,"  she  said,  "and  remember,  my  de- 
cision is  unalterable!" 

When  the  door  closed  Mr.  Vaille  swore  with  heart- 
felt fluency. 

"The  time  has  come  to  twist  the  screw,"  he  said 
bitterly.  '  And  twist  it  hard!" 

"We  must  communicate  with  the  Chief  at  once!" 
said  Mr.  Bell,  moving  to  the  telephone.  "A  slight 
difficulty  was  to  be  looked  for,  and  I  was  ready  for 
it.  But  this !  I  was  watching  the  girl  sharply,  and 
an  undreamed-of  complication  has  arisen  which  may 
wreck  our  plans.  We  need  drastic  measures  for  it." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  said  Vaille  staring. 

Mr.  Bell's  serene  self-possession  suddenly  fell  away 
from  him. 

"Don't  you  see,  you  fool!"  he  rasped,  "that  she 
is  in  love  with  this  cursed  fellow,  Mottisfont!" 

7 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  SHADOW  FALLS 

"GENTLEMEN,"  said  Mr.  Callaghan,  adjusting  his 
spectacles,  "give  yourselves  no  concern  as  to  Philip 
Mottisfont.  And  here  let  me  congratulate  you.  The 
ewe  lamb  is  found,  branded,  tied,  and  delivered  into 
the  fold."  He  rolled  a  cigar  between  his  lips  appre- 
ciatively. "There  remains  only  the  pleasant  opera- 
tion of  shearing." 

"And  may  the  wool  be  white  and  abundant," 
remarked  Vaille,  emptying  his  wineglass  with  much 
relief.  "Chief,  your  manner  of  sweeping  aside  diffi- 
culties is  regal.  I  confess  the  intrusion  of  this  man 
Mottisfont  shocked  me." 

"It  is  an  annoyance,"  said  Mr.  Callaghan,  "which 
will  be  overcome.  I  am  not  unprepared  for  it.  True, 
Philip  Mottisfont  is  one  of  the  cleverest  juniors  at 
the  Bar.  He  is  ambitious,  vindictive,  and  a  fortune- 
hunter.  Like  ourselves,  he  is  on  the  make.  He  is  a 
stumbling  block,  but  far  from  being  a  fatal  one." 

"Would  it  not  be  as  well,"  said  Mr.  Bell,  with  an 
air  of  breathing  a  prayer,  "to  have  him  removed?" 

"That  might  become  necessary,"  said  Mr.  Calla- 
ghan, "but  we  shall  avoid  it  for  the  present;  at  this 
juncture  it  would  attract  an  undesirable  amount  of 
attention.  As  you  know,  I  am  against  crude  methods, 

98 


THE  SHADOW  FALLS  99 

except  in  urgent  cases ;  I  will  show  you  how  to  fight 
Mottisfont,  for  we  hold  every  card  in  the  game.  We 
have  found  the  girl;  the  proofs  and  the  prize  are  in 
our  hands." 

"I  think,"  said  Vaille,  "we  ought  to  drink  to  Sla- 
ney.  He  has  surpassed  himself." 

Drumrnond  and  Mr.  Bell,  agreeing  heartily,  passed 
each  other  the  decanter.  An  atmosphere  of  success 
and  of  quiet  triumph  filled  the  luxurious  room. 

"I  have  conveyed  my  appreciation  to  Slaney," 
said  Mr.  Callaghan  thoughtfully,  "though  actually 
the  arrival  of  Joan  at  Knayth  was  no  more  than  a 
lucky  accident;  any  one  less  intelligent  than  Slaney 
might  easily  have  allowed  it  to  escape  him.  He 
proved  and  clinched  it  with  the  acumen  we  always 
expect  from  him.  A  humble  but  useful  member, 
Slaney  has  but  one  failing — he  is  a  coward.  I  fear 
nothing  but  a  coward.  However,  on  this  occasion 
no  courage  was  needed ;  he  was  dealing  with  a  woman, 
and  I  am  very  pleased  with  him." 

Mr.  Callaghan  surveyed  the  company  benevo- 
lently over  the  top  of  his  spectacles. 

"She  is  the  girl,  beyond  any  shadow  of  a  doubt," 
said  Vaille,  "though  Bell  and  I  had  some  anxious 
moments  till  we  were  certain.  If  you  had  seen  her 
sitting  in  that  chair,  Chief,  with  her  rosebud  mouth 
open,  and  her  eyes  like  saucers,  it  would  have  ap- 
pealed greatly  to  your  peculiar  sense  of  humour. 
She  is  an  admirable  subject — unsophisticated,  simple, 
and  honest.  A  perfect  little  fool." 

"I  am  not  quite  sure  of  that  last,"  murmured  Mr. 
Bell.  "She  showed  a  certain  intelligence  in  trying 


ioo   THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

to  saddle  us  with  Mottisfont,  and  I  detected  an  un- 
mistakable strain  of  wilfulness.  But  she  is  human — 
very  human.  Was  it  not  funny,  Vaille,  when,  with 
that  pathetic  little  semiquaver  in  her  voice,  she 
enquired  about  her  dead  father?" 

Mr.  Bell's  plump  form  shook  all  over  with  silent 
merriment. 

"As  the  daughter  of  one  of  the  most  elusive  scoun- 
drels ever  hunted  by  the  police,"  said  Callaghan, 
"and  whose  neck  would  be  forfeited  to  the  gallows 
were  he  alive,  an  element  of  humour  certainly  sur- 
rounds her.  However,  you  in  particular.  Bell,  have 
served  me  well.  You  have  secured  for  us  the  bond 
for  £30,000 — a  perfect  sum ;  not  so  large  that  it  drives 
her  to  fight  us.  A  touch  of  genius  there,  Bell,  and 
even  if  she  refused  to  pay,  I  have  a  hold  over  her 
that  would  make  resistance  useless.  But,  in  any 
case,  she  is  going  to  stand  by  that  bond,  as  I  predicted 
she  would." 

"I  am  glad  of  it,"  said  Mr.  Bell,  "for  I  don't  know 
what  your  powers  are,  Chief,  but  I  warned  you,  as 
an  expert,  the  bond  might  be  successfully  fought  at 
law.  I  may  possibly  get  struck  off  the  Rolls,  before 
this  job  is  ended.  It  has  surprised  me  frequently 
that  such  a  thing  has  not  happened  before  today. 
It  is  an  event  that  would  cause  me  no  great  grief," 
added  Mr.  Bell  blandly.  "My  activities  as  an  ob- 
scure solicitor  are  hardly  worth  mentioning  compared 
with  my  share  in  the  delightfully  interesting  firm 
of  Callaghan  &  Co.  Still,  a  little  camouflage  is 
always  desirable." 

He  looked  round  benevolently  at  his  companions. 


THE  SHADOW  FALLS  101 

"We  are  a  curious  company,  are  we  not?  Drum- 
mond,  a  young  man  of  excellent  connections,  a  mem- 
ber of  the  best  clubs,  with  the  entre  to  circles  that 
command  respect  everywhere.  Vaille,  also  well-born 
and  well  educated,  an  authority  on  big  game  shoot- 
ing, and  with  a  military  career  of  some  distinction. 
Myself,  a  humble  professional  man,  cultivating  those 
peculiar  gifts  which  fit  me  to  succeed  as  a  blood- 
sucker on  the  arteries  of  Society.  I  am  convinced 
we  have  in  Joan  Tallbois  the  richest  vein  ever  ap- 
proached." He  laid  down  his  cigar.  "Let  us  put  it 
to  ourselves  that  Jim  Carey  is  in  our  debt,  and  we  pro- 
pose to  deal  with  his  daughter  as  a  realizable  asset." 

"In  actual  fact,"  said  Mr.  Callaghan  carelessly, 
"we  are  in  debt  to  Jim  Carey.  We  owed  him  fifteen 
hundred  pounds  over  the  Welthorpe  Diamonds  affair 
at  the  time  he  disappeared.  Had  he  returned,  we 
should  loyally  have  paid  him  in  full.  It  is  a  further 
reason  to  congratulate  ourselves  on  his  demise.  We 
shall  not  be  hampered  for  lack  of  funds.  There  is 
six  thousand  pounds  banked.  In  this  room  I  have 
sixteen  hundred  in  cash,  for  immediate  needs.  The 
entire  case,  to  the  moment  of  victory,  will  not  cost 
us  two  thousand  pounds." 

"If  the  girl  and  Mottisfont  combine — "  began  Bell. 

"Let  them!"  broke  in  Mr.  Callaghan  grimly.  "I 
am  the  power  in  the  background,  and  I  hold  the 
trumps.  Win  she  cannot  without  my  help.  That 
is  the  first  card. 

"Secondly — "  Mr.  Callaghan  paused  for  some 
seconds.  "But  no!  As  I  said  before,  gentlemen,  I 
shall  withhold  the  second  coup  even  from  you  until 


102    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

the  time  is  ripe."  The  eyes  behind  the  spectacles 
shone  glassily.  "I  will  only  remark  that  when  my 
final  move  is  made,  Joan  Tallbois  will  have  occasion 
to  regret  that  the  late  Slim  Jim  didn't  die  without 
issue.  Really,"  he  concluded  with  a  metallic  chuckle, 
"I  could  almost  find  it  in  my  heart  to  sympathize 
with  the  girl!" 

He  rose  and  moved  towards  a  bookshelf  that  stood 
against  the  wall  and  laid  his  hand  on  it. 

"Here,"  he  said,  "lies  the  collected  evidence  that 
will  establish  the  charming  Joan  as  Lady  Tallbois, 
and  which  neither  money  nor  power  could  trace 
without  our  sanction.  We  have  the  whip  hand,  and 
we  shall  use  it." 

The  bookshelf  swung  back  from  the  wainscot. 
Behind  it  the  panel  opened,  disclosing  the  front  of  a 
small,  but  massive  and  very  modern,  safe,  let  into 
the  wall.  Mr.  Callaghan  felt  in  his  pocket  and  pro- 
duced a  bunch  of  keys. 

"It  is  time,"  he  said,  "to  produce  those  proofs, 
and  give  you  your  orders." 

The  others  moved  to  his  side  quickly. 

"The  game  promises  not  only  profit,  but  enter- 
tainment," grinned  Vaille,  relighting  his  cigar.  He 
paused  and  looked  up.  "A  curious  thought  has 
strayed  into  my  mind,"  he  said,  with  rather  a  wry 
smile.  "Imagine  for  a  moment,  you  fellows,  what 
a  very  odd  position  we  should  be  in  if  Slim  Jim  rose 
from  the  dead  and  learned  our  plans  regarding  his 
only  daughter!" 

A  silence  fell  on  the  company.  Callaghan  fumbled 
with  the  keys.  Drummond  and  Vaille  and  Mr.  Bell 


THE  SHADOW  FALLS  103 

looked  at  each  other.  Then,  as  with  a  common 
accord,  their  gaze  travelled  to  that  sinister,  bearded 
portrait  that  hung  over  the  mantelpiece.  Its  eyes 
seemed  to  answer  them. 

"In  normal  cases  I  have  pretty  strong  nerves," 
said  Drummond  softly.  "But  I  think,  in  an  event 
like  that,  I  should  take  cover." 

"He  was  a  remarkable  man,"  said  Mr.  Bell,  with 
a  faint  shudder.  "The  members  of  our  little  syndi- 
cate have  always  been  strictly  loyal  to  each  other — 
especially  when  he  was  among  us.  If  anything  went 
wrong,  he  was  absolutely  pitiless." 

"Pitiless!"  echoed  Vaille.  "He  was  the  cruellest 
and  most  ruthless  devil  that  ever  walked  this  earth. 
I  am  hardly  a  model  person  myself,  but  I  think  the 
world  was  well  rid  of  Slim  Jim  Carey.  If  he " 

Mr.  Callaghan  shook  the  bunch  of  keys  impa- 
tiently. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  protested,  "let  us  return,  if  you 
please,  to  common  sense!  All  that  was  mortal  of 
Jim  Carey  was  shattered  by  a  German  shell,  and  lies 
under  three  feet  of  Argonne  clay.  We  are  not  dwell- 
ing in  fairyland — we  are  engaged  in  urgent  business." 

He  turned  the  combinations,  and  inserted  the  key 
in  the  lock.  It  worked  stiffly  and  with  some  difficulty, 
to  his  surprise. 

"Here,"  he  said  impressively,  as  the  safe  door 
swung  open,  "we  have  the  whip  that  will  drive  Joan 
Tallbois  down  the  road  that  her  father  travelled." 

His  voice  died  away  in  a  whisper.  He  stood  staring 
blankly  at  the  safe.  Suddenly  he  fell  to  his  knees 
and  groped  round  the  interior  with  clutching  hands. 


104    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

There  was  nothing  there — save  a  hundred  pounds  in 
bank-notes. 

"Empty!"  he  gasped.     "The  proofs  are  gone!" 

"And  the  money?"  cried  Bell  trembling. 

"Fifteen  hundred  pounds  taken.  But  the  proofs — 
the  proofs!" 

Vaille  picked  up  the  roll  of  bank-notes  dazedly. 
A  slip  of  paper  fluttered  from  them.  He  picked  it 
up  and  held  it  to  the  light. 

"What's  this?  "he  said. 

The  others  gathered  round  him  quickly.  On  the 
slip  of  paper  were  less  than  a  dozen  words,  written, 
or  rather  printed,  in  neat  capitals.  The  five  men 
read  it  in  silence.  And  this  is  what  they  read: 

IF  YOU  VALUE  YOUR  LIVES,  LEAVE  JOAN  TALLBOIS  ALONE. 

Vaille's  pupils  contracted  slowly,  like  a  cat's.  An 
inch  of  ash  shook  itself  from  Drummond's  cigar  and 
streamed  over  his  clothes.  The  plump  features  of 
Mr.  Bell  turned  a  sickly  green  colour.  Callaghan's 
face  was  as  the  face  of  a  devil. 

The  Chief  seized  hold  of  the  safe  door.  On  either 
side  of  the  lock  was  a  tiny,  neatly  driven  hole  through 
the  chilled  steel.  He  rose  slowly  to  his  feet. 

"  Vaille/'  he  said  thickly,  "you  were  right.  There 
is  but  one  man  of  our  generation  who  could  have 
done  this  job.  That  is  his  message.  Here  on  the 
safe  door  I  recognize  his  handiwork.  We  are  up 
against  Jim  Carey  in  the  flesh,  and  he  has  robbed  us 
of  every  weapon  we  held — save  one!" 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  KEY  TO  VICTORY 

"I  WILL  handle  this  Tallbois  case,"  said  Philip 
Mottisfont  decisively.  "Nobody  shall  touch  it  but 
me.  The  problem  is  to  get  Joan  out  of  the  hands 
of  those  two  sharpers  at  any  cost.  But  it  must  be 
done  legally.  I  dare  touch  nothing  underhand." 

He  threw  himself  back  in  the  chair  before  his  desk 
and  frowned  thoughtfully. 

"The  devil  is  that  this  man  Vaille  has  got  his 
fists  tightly  on  the  evidence — proofs  that  doubtless 
he  alone  can  supply.  The  Law  cannot  make  him 
give  them  up;  he  would  deny  their  existence  unless 
he  got  his  price.  He  holds  the  trumps — he  can  either 
rob  the  girl,  or  wreck  her  chance.  It  is  a  ghastly 
situation ;  I  foresee  tragedy  in  it !  How  to  get  them 
from  him?" 

He  rose  and  paced  the  room,  thinking  busily. 

"  It  is  a  deadlock,"  he  muttered.     "And  yet " 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  Mottisfont's 
silent  man-servant  entered,  bringing  a  large  regis- 
tered package  on  a  tray.  Philip  signed  for  it,  and 
glancing  curiously  at  the  package,  opened  it.  It  was 
very  securely  sealed,  and  covered  by  several  wrappers. 

There  was  quite  a  large  bulk  of  closely  written 
papers,  stamped  documents  and  forms,  all  neatly 

105 


106    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

docketed  and  secured  with  rubber  bands.  On  the 
top  was  a  slip  of  paper,  with  a  heading  printed  with 
pen  and  ink  in  orderly  capital  letters.  As  Mottisfont 
read  it  he  gave  a  slight  gasp. 

EVIDENCE  CONFIRMING  THE  CLAIM  OF  JOAN  TALLBOIS 

TO  THE  TITLE  AND  ESTATES  OF  TALLBOIS  OF 

KNAYTH.     COMPLETE  HEREWITH 

Philip's  amazement  turned  to  swift  contempt. 

"Who  has  played  this  fool's  trick  on  me!"  he 
exclaimed.  He  snatched  up  the  envelope  and  scru- 
tinized it.  The  printed  address  was  exactly  similar 
in  form  to  the  letters  of  the  heading.  ' '  Philip  Mottis- 
font, Esq.,  Barrister- at-Law,  Fountain  Court,  Tem- 
ple." He  turned  over  the  documents  rapidly. 

It  was  a  hoax,  of  course — a  bald  attempt  at 
swindling.  The  "evidence"  surely  was  rubbish. 
What  was  the  object  of  it  all?  And  yet,  as  Philip 
scanned  the  documents  his  face  changed. 

"  Marriage  certificate — William  Travers  Tallbois — 
Helen  Lloyd,  spinster,"  he  muttered,  picking  up  one 
of  them  and  staring  at  it.  "  Calcarth,  South  Georgia. 
Certified  copy." 

He  took  up  the  next. 

"Certificate  of  birth — Tallbois,  Joan  Lechlade — 
daughter  of  William  and  Helen  Tallbois — Lexon- 
ville — October,  1899.  Signed  by  registrar — why,  it's 
the  original!" 

With  hands  that  trembled  slightly  he  searched 
through  the  other  and  longer  documents,  glancing 
eagerly  at  each  one  with  keen  eyes.  His  excitement 
increased. 


THE  KEY  TO  VICTORY  107 

"Good  heavens!"  he  exclaimed.  "This  stuff  is 
genuine.  It's  the  goods!  The  very  evidence  Joan 
wants — the  proof  of  her  claim.  A  magnificent  case! 
Just  the  matter  that  I  thought  beyond  her  reach. 
But  who  in  the  world  has  sent  it  to  me?" 

He  tore  open  the  envelope  and  coverings,  laying 
them  bare,  searching  minutely  all  through  the  papers. 
There  was  no  trace  of  any  letter  enclosed,  no  sender's 
name,  nothing  but  those  few  printed  and  unsigned 
words.  Yet  a  fortune  would  hardly  have  covered 
the  value  of  those  documents  that  arrived  in  a 
simple  package. 

Baffled,  Mottisfont  threw  himself  into  a  chair  and 
went  through  the  enclosures,  reading  them  over  rap- 
idly. Of  all  the  cases,  criminal  or  civil,  that  had 
ever  come  within  his  ken,  this  was  the  most  amazing. 
It  held  him  fascinated.  Trained  barrister  as  he  was, 
the  skill  with  which  the  varied  proofs  had  been  got 
together  and  verified,  step  by  step,  elicited  his  ad- 
miration. Before  he  was  halfway  through  Mottis- 
font rose  to  his  feet. 

"It's  stupendous ! "  he  cried.  ' ' Imagine  this  before 
the  House  of  Lords!  I'd  give  a  hundred  guineas  to 
know  whence  it  came,  for  there's  nothing  here  that 
cannot  be  proved  up  to  the  hilt.  We  must  find  that 
out.  It  could  not  have  been " 

His  man  opened  the  door. 

"A  lady  to  see  you,  sir." 

It  was  Joan,  very  self-possessed,  in  a  smart  walking 
costume.  Mottisfont  came  forward  eagerly,  and 
seized  both  her  hands  in  his.  She  seemed  surprised 
at  this  unusual  vehemence. 


io8    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

"You  come  at  the  very  moment!"  he  exclaimed. 
"I  was  just  about  to  try  and  find  you.  I've  the 
greatest  news  for  you!" 

"Ah!"  said  Joan  quickly.  "Does  that  mean  you 
will  undertake  my  case  for  me,  after  all?" 

"Most  emphatically  I  will — and  only  too  gladly! 
But  that  is  not  the  news.  Let  me  show  you " 

' '  Wait, ' '  said  Joan .  ' '  One  moment ;  let  me  tell  you 
what  I  have  done." 

She  described  her  second  interview  with  Messrs. 
Vaille  and  Bell.  Mottisfont  laughed  joyously. 

' '  Splendid ! "  he  exclaimed.  ' '  You  said  exactly  the 
right  thing.  You  have  dropped  a  bomb  into  that 
camp.  But  please  come  here  and  look  at  these 
amazing  papers  I  have  received.  Do  you  know  any- 
thing of  them?  Have  you  ever  seen  them  before?" 

Joan  shook  her  head.  She  turned  over  the  docu- 
ments. 

"What  are  they?" 

"The  proofs  that  you  are  Lady  Tallbois  of 
Knayth!" 

Joan  looked  at  him  and  gave  a  little  gasp. 

"You  are  wonderful,"  she  cried.  "How  did  you 
get  them?" 

"That  is  what  I  want  to  know."  He  told  her  how 
they  had  arrived.  "Don't  give  me  credit  for  it — the 
thing  is  a  complete  mystery.  Can  you  throw  no 
light  on  it?" 

"None,"  said  Joan,  her  face  alight  with  excitement. 
"If  anybody  had  them  I  should  have  thought  it 
would  be  Mr.  Vaille.  He  cannot  have  sent  them?" 

"Vaille?    He  is  the  last  man  on  earth  to  do  such 


THE  KEY  TO  VICTORY  109 

a  thing.  These  papers  are  worth  a  fortune.  Miss 
Joan,  there  is  something  extraordinary  behind  this 
case,  something  I  cannot  yet  fathom  at  all.  Why 
are  these  things  sent  to  me  anonymously?  But  it 
is  useless  to  theorize.  For  the  moment  all  we  can 
consider  is  the  fact — here  is  that  vital  evidence  which 
builds  up  your  case.  It  is  a  wonderful  piece  of  luck, 
for  all  these  proofs  would  have  taken  a  year  to  trace — 
even  then  the  tracer  might  have  failed." 

"You  are  sure  it  is  genuine." 

"Unless  all  these  are  brilliantly  clever  forgeries — 
which  I  refuse  to  believe.  Such  an  effort  would  be 
foolish  and  useless;  it  would  never  bear  the  light  of 
the  open  courts.  No,  I  think  we  can  rely  on  this, 
as  far  as  it  goes — and  it  goes  very  far.  Do  you  wish 
to  learn  more  of  the  secret  of  your  life — and  your 
father's — as  it  is  set  out  in  these  strange  documents? " 

"Yes,"  cried  Joan  eagerly,  her  cheeks  flushing  red. 
"Show  me!" 

He  set  a  chair  for  her  before  the  papers. 

"Now,"  said  Mottisfont,  "we  need  not  wade 
through  the  whole  of  this  bulk  of  matter,  much  of 
which  you  would  find  tedious.  That  will  be  lawyer's 
work.  But  I  will  give  you  the  outline." 

"That  will  be  best." 

He  placed  in  her  hands  the  marriage  papers  and 
the  certificate.  Joan's  fingers  trembled  slightly  as 
she  held  them.  It  was  as  though  a  clear  white  light 
was  flung  upon  the  darkness  of  her  early  childhood — 
days  of  which  she  knew,  or  could  remember  nothing. 
Here  were  the  proved  names  of  that  father  and 
mother  who,  till  now,  had  been  not  even  names. 


no  THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

"Those  speak  for  themselves,"  said  Mottisfont 
quietly.  "  I  needn't  explain  them.  And  here  is  an 
enormously  important  point,  perhaps  the  most  im- 
portant point  of  all.  The  name  of  the  ship  that 
picked  your  father  up  at  sea,  the  day  after  the 
disaster  to  the  liner,  and  the  name  of  that  ship's 
captain,  with  the  statement  that  he  is  still  living." 

Joan  drew  a  sharp  breath. 

"Then  why  has  he  never  come  forward? "  she  cried. 

"You  forget  that  your  father  changed  his  name. 
It  is  given  here,  and  vouched  for.  He  called  himself, 
for  some  reason,  Le  Mesurier." 

The  girl  nodded. 

"He  had  his  reasons,  of  course,  for  wishing  to 
sink  the  past  for  ever — and  here  they  are."  Philip 
passed  on  rapidly.  "But  the  surprising  thing  is  that 
once,  and  once  only,  he  went  back  on  that.  He  mar- 
ried under  his  own  name — William  Travers  Tall- 
bois — in  this  obscure  little  Southern  town  where  he 
took  Helen  Lloyd  to  wife.  That  is  an  amazing  thing. ' ' 

Joan  turned  in  the  chair,  her  eyes  flashing. 

"I  love  him  for  it!"  she  cried,  a  lump  rising  in 
her  throat.  "Do  you  not  see  that  he  did  this  be- 
cause, whatever  hung  over  him  he  would  not  marry 
a  woman  under  false  colours !  Whatever  else  he  may 
have  done,  he  gave  my  mother  the  name  that  was 
his  by  right — because  he  loved  her!" 

"True,"  said  Philip,  "no  doubt  it  must  be  so.  And 
a  fortunate  thing  it  is  for  you,  his  daughter.  It 
makes  things  enormously  easier  for  you  in  this  crisis. 
Had  he  married  under  a  false  name,  the  difficulty  of 
proving  it  would  have  been  much  greater. 


THE  KEY  TO  VICTORY  in 

"However,  after  he  lost  your  mother,"  continued 
Philip  gently,  "or  even  before  that,  the  name  of 
William  Tallbois  is  not  heard  of  again,  yet  we  can 
connect  Le  Mesurier  again  and  again,  and  the 
proofs  of  that  connection,  given  here,  are  good.  I 
am  used  to  sifting  evidence,  and  this  evidence  seems 
to  me  very  sound."  He  paused.  "Finally,  it  is  Le 
Mesurier  who  enlists  in  the  Foreign  Legion  and  dies 
in  France.  That  will  be  quite  easy  to  establish;  all 
the  facts  are  given  here." 

"Then  everything  I  need  is  in  your  hands!"  ex- 
claimed Joan,  "and  there  is  nothing  to  do  but  begin 
the  case  and  win." 

Philip  hesitated. 

"You  are  asking  a  lawyer  to  do  a  great  deal,"  he 
said,  "in  committing  himself  to  such  a  statement. 
We  are  a  cautious  race.  You  know  '  there's  many  a 
slip'  in  the  law  courts." 

"But  you  believe  it  a  certainty  —  now?"  she 
cried. 

"  I  thought  so  when  first  I  went  through  this  stuff. 
We  have  almost  everything.  But  there  are  just  two 
beads  missing  from  the  string.  We've  got  to  have 
those.  One  is  the  ship's  captain  who  saved  your 
father.  We  must  find  him  in  the  flesh.  That,  I  am 
sure,  can  be  overcome.  I  see  my  way  through  it. 

"The  other  is  more  difficult.  You  are  Joan  Tall- 
bois ;  yet  you  live  for  years  with  this  excellent  woman, 
Janet  Mackellar,  who  must  have  known  something 
of  your  beginnings.  Yet  you  never  heard  of  your 
name — Tallbois,  till  a  week  ago,  never  reached  your 
ears.  You  were  called  Joan  Ayre  through  all  that 


ii2    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

long  time.  Why?  What  does  it  mean?  Here  is  a 
considerable  hiatus,  Miss  Joan,  which  will  have  to 
be  filled  in  and  explained.  There  is  nothing  about  it 
in  these  papers." 

Joan's  face  was  troubled.  She  considered  a  few 
moments,  and  then  looked  up  at  him  quickly. 

"I  have  thought  of  something,"  she  said.  "I  ex- 
pect you  will  judge  me  foolish  for  not  having  spoken 
of  it  before,  but  until  now  I  never  thought  it  could 
matter.  Janet  Mackellar,  who  brought  me  from 
America,  died  in  London  some  time  ago.  She  left  a 
will  in  my  favour." 

"A  will!"  exclaimed  Mottisfont.  Suddenly  he 
checked  himself  and  raised  his  head  as  if  listening. 
With  three  swift,  silent  strides  he  reached  the  door 
and  flung  it  open. 

No  one  was  there.  The  corridor  was  empty.  At 
the  end  of  it,  in  a  little  open  room  used  for  a  pantry, 
Mottisfont's  man-servant  was  silently  polishing  sil- 
ver. Philip  glanced  at  the  man's  back  and,  returning 
slowly  to  the  room,  closed  the  door. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  asked  Joan. 

"I  thought  I  heard  a  rustle  at  the  door,"  he  said. 
"I  suspected  eavesdroppers." 

"It  is  strange,"  said  Joan.  "I  believed  I  heard 
something  too." 

"Must  have  been  fancy.  No  one  there  but  my 
servant,  and  he  is  out  of  reach.  A  stupid  fellow,  and 
reliable.  This  queer  case  of  ours  puts  queer  thoughts 
into  one's  head.  You  were  saying  Janet  Mackellar 
made  you  her  legatee.  This  is  important.  What 
did  she  leave  you?" 


THE  KEY  TO  VICTORY  113 

"Only  a  little  money.  I  think  it  was  fifty  or 
eighty  pounds.  Poor  Janet  had  not  much.  The 
funny  thing  is,  I  didn't  get  it.  I  was  only  nineteen 
at  the  time.  She  tied  it  up  till " 

"Till  you  were  of  age?" 

"I  was  of  age  last  month.  No,  she  tied  it  up  till 
I  was  twenty-five,  or  until  I  was  married,"  said 
Joan,  with  a  slight  blush,  "if  it  should  happen  before 
that.  Dear  old  Janet  had  queer  ideas.  She  thought 
I  should  want  it  more  then.  When  she  died  I  had  a 
good  job,  and  a  little  saved.  But  all  that  doesn't 
matter.  With  the  money  she  left  a  sealed  package, 
which  was  only  to  be  delivered  to  me  when  I  came 
into  the  money.  That's  what  I  now  think  may  be 
important.  I  was  not  to  learn  what  was  in  that 
package,  you  see,  till  I  was  either  twenty-five  or 
married.  I  often  think  there  was  information  in  it 
for  me,  which  she  would  never  give  while  she  was 
alive.  She  always  refused  to  answer  my  question. 
Sometimes  I  think  she  was  a  little  mad." 

"Ah!"  said  Philip  keenly.  "And  was  the  will  up- 
held ?  What  became  of  it  ?  Never  mind  the  money — 
where  is  that  package?" 

"The  will  was  all  right.  The  money  and  the 
package  are  in  charge  of  some  official — I  forget  his 
name.  The " 

"The  Public  Trustee?" 

"Yes,  that  was  it." 

"Good!"  said  Mottisfont.  "You  have  hit  the 
very  mark,  Miss  Joan.  It  is  fifty  to  one  that  sealed 
information  from  your  old  guardian  is  the  one  clue 
that  will  throw  light  on  a  dark  chapter — the  final 


114    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

nail  that  will  clinch  your  claim  and  give  you  your 
peerage.  I  will  get  hold  of  that!" 

"But  shall  I  have  to  wait  till  I  am  twenty-five?" 
asked  Joan,  "or  else,"  she  added,  laughing,  "get 
married  at  once." 

Mottisfont  caught  his  breath.  He  looked  at  her 
strangely  for  a  moment,  and  there  was  a  pause. 
Then  he  smiled. 

"There  is  no  need  for  you  to  take  such  a  terrible 
step  as  that,"  he  said.  "We  shall  apply  for  a  man- 
damus from  the  High  Court,  allowing  that  package 
to  be  opened  and  its  contents  made  known.  It  is 
difficult,  but  with  such  great  interests  involved  I  shall 
be  able  to  do  it.  Even  the  Public  Trustee  will  have 
to  bow  there.  And  now,  Miss  Joan — or  shall  I  say 
LadyTallbois?" 

"Miss  Joan,  please,"  she  answered,  laughing 

"Nothing  remains  but  for  me  to  get  to  work.  I 
have  told  you  all  I  can." 

"Haven't  you  left  out  a  good  deal?"  she  said, 
after  a  moment's  silence.  ' '  I  mean,  about  my  father, 
after  he  disappeared.  You  came  very  quickly  to  an 
end  there." 

Philip  hesitated.     He  grew  very  grave. 

"I  have  something  difficult  to  say  to  you,"  he 
murmured.  "Shall  I  speak  plainly?" 

"If  you  please." 

"It  seems  to  me,  from  these  documents,  that  your 
father  may  have  some  time  been  in  rather  serious 
trouble.  I  do  not  mean  the  escapade  which  made  him 
leave  England.  Sometime  later,  in  America.  Evi- 
dently some  jostle  with  the  law.  I  am  unable  to  say 


THE  KEY  TO  VICTORY  115 

even  now  what  it  is.  Perhaps  nothing  very  serious. 
But  this  case  may  throw  a  strong  light  on  your 
father,  and  one,  possibly,  painful  to  you.  But  per- 
haps we  can  avoid  it." 

Joan  raised  her  head,  and  looked  him  full  in  the 
face,  proudly  and  with  a  touch  of  obstinacy. 

"He  was  my  father,"  she  said,  "and  whatever  he 
may  have  done  I  will  never  forget  that.  I  shall  be 
as  loyal  as  lies  within  my  power  to  him,  and  to  his 
memory,  as  though  he  were  alive.  I  will  uphold  and 
shield  that  memory  at  all  costs.  That  i  s  my  last  word . ' ' 

There  was  a  flash  in  Joan's  eyes,  a  difference  in 
her  whole  attitude  and  personality  at  that  moment 
that  startled  Mottisfont.  But  he  found  her  more 
intensely  fascinating  than  ever. 

"Be  it  so!"  he  said.  "I  see  you  have  courage. 
Well,  I  must  go  forward  with  the  work.  And  I  will 
not  rest  till  I  know  how  and  why  these  documents 
have  reached  me." 

"When  shall  I  hear  from  you  again?" 

"I  may  have  news  sooner  than  you  think.  We 
must  keep  in  close  touch.  Look  here,  Miss  Joan, 
why  not  dine  with  me  tonight — at  the  Carlton?" 

Joan's  eyes  sparkled.  Then  she  looked  at  Philip 
thoughtfully. 

"It  is  a  good  thing,"  he  said,  smiling,  "for  a  lady 
litigant  to  dine  with  her  counsel.  And  very  respect- 
able." 

"It  keeps  him  up  to  his  job,  I  suppose,"  laughed 
Joan.  "Thank  you,  I  shall  be  charmed.  I'll  be 
there  at  eight.  Mind  you  have  something  exciting 
to  tell  me." 


Ii6    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

"There'll  be  no  lack  of  excitement,  as  far  as  I  can 
see,  in  the  Tallbois  case,"  replied  Philip,  as  he  showed 
her  out. 

At  a  little  after  eight  Joan  arrived  at  the  Carlton 
lounge.  Mottisfont  was  waiting  for  her.  Vastly 
different  was  his  attitude  now  from  what  it  had  been 
at  Puttock  and  Copes.  He  regarded  Joan  with 
mingled  satisfaction  and  respect;  her  daintiness  and 
charm  for  some  moments  held  him  almost  tongue- 
tied.  She  wore  a  simple  but  exquisite  little  evening 
frock  in  mousseline-de-soie  of  a  fairy-faint  blue,  evi- 
dently a  product  of  some  famous  dressmaker. 

"You  look  as  if  you  approved  of  me,"  she  said, 
laughing. 

"How  could  I  not?  I  have  an  artistic  eye,"  re- 
plied Philip,  as  they  walked  to  the  dining-room. 

"Have  you  solved  the  mystery  yet?" 

"No.  But  I  have  been  in  consultation  with  a  great 
solicitor,  one  whom  you  could  trust  with  the  Crown 
Jewels,  and  he  will  act  with  me.  I  want  you  to  meet 
him  soon." 

"I  don't  call  that  at  all  exciting,"  pouted  Joan. 
"  Let's  forget  all  about  lawyers  and  things  for  an 
hour.  This  place,"  she  added,  "is  a  little  different 
from  the  A.  B.  C.  tea-shop  where  1  used  to  lunch. 
What  a  wonderful  world  I  have  plunged  into!" 

They  dined  at  a  table  that  gave  them  a  view  of 
the  whole  room.  Joan  tasted  the  Wine  of  Life  that 
night — only  a  sip,  as  yet,  but  a  childish  happiness 
filled  her.  The  soft  lights,  the  flowers,  the  perfect 
service,  the  fluting  throb  of  violins  behind  the  palms 
— above  all  the  throng  of  easy-mannered,  happy 


THE  KEY  TO  VICTORY  117 

people,  all  struck  a  sympathetic  chord  in  her.  Philip 
could  scarcely  take  his  eyes  from  the  girl. 

"Does  all  this  seem  very  strange  to  you?"  he 
asked,  when  the  coffee  came. 

"No,"  said  Joan  pensively,  "not  at  all.  That's 
the  queer  thing  about  it.  I  should,  I  expect,  if  I 
were  wearing  my  old  linen  blouse  and  serge  skirt; 
then  I  should  feel  stupid  and  out  of  place.  But  I 
feel  perfectly  happy  and  natural.  It  must  be  my 
clothes." 

"There  is  more  in  it  than  that,"  said  Philip. 
"Your  forbears,  for  centuries,  were  people  accus- 
tomed to  only  the  best  of  things — the  broad  and 
lighted  way."  He  sighed  a  little.  "Now  that  it  is 
within  your  reach,  you  claim  it  as  your  right,  quite 
naturally.  There  will  be  a  big  public  stir  in  this 
country,"  he  added,  smiling,  "when  your  claim  is 
made  known." 

"Yes,  I  suppose  so.  But  I'm  told  I  ought  to  keep 
it  secret  as  long  as  possible." 

"I  disagree  with  that  absolutely,"  said  Mottisfont 
very  earnestly.  "  If  you  will  let  me  say  so,  the  man 
Vaille  gave  you  that  advice  for  his  own  purposes. 
Since  the  case  has  got  to  be  made  known,  then  the 
sooner  the  better." 

"You  think  so?" 

"I  know  it.  Publicity  is  your  best  weapon.  It 
may  be  troublesome,  but  it  will  throw  a  bright  light 
on  the  knavery  and  mystery  which  I  can  feel  hang- 
ing around  us,  yet  cannot  trace.  Newspapers  may  be 
trying,  but  they  are  an  immense  help  to  the  law  in 
bringing  forth  unexpected  proofs.  Secrecy  is  only 


ii8    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

for  rogues.  I  hope  you  will  let  me  make  your  claim 
known." 

"I  dislike  fame,"  said  Joan.  "But  you  are  wiser 
than  I,  and  you  shall  do  whatever  you  think  best." 
Philip  thanked  her  eagerly.  "Why,  who  is  this?" 

Joan  changed  colour  slightly  as  she  looked  up, 
and  in  a  moment  was  on  her  guard. 

Two  fashionably  dressed  women  were  passing  the 
table  at  the  moment,  and,  pausing,  stared  at  Joan. 
One  of  them,  dark  and  slim,  was  Hilda  Detchmere, 
whom  she  had  seen  on  the  houseboat  Nepenthe.  A 
glitter  of  anger  and  contempt  came  into  her  eyes 
as  she  recognized  Philip's  companion.  The  other 
woman  was  Lady  Dunluce. 

"Why,  it  is  our  little  water-nymph  of  the  river!" 
exclaimed  the  latter.  "How  are  you,  Philip?  How 
are  you,  Miss  Ayre?"  She  looked  at  Mottisfont 
with  a  twinkling  eye.  "And  you,  gallant  rescuer? 
Has  the  Humane  Society's  medal  arrived  yet?  What 
a  world  of  surprises!" 

"It  is  nothing  to  what  is  coming,"  replied  Philip, 
laughing.  "  Have  you  dined?  Sit  down  at  least,  and 
have  coffee,  Lady  Dunluce.  Hilda,  will  you  be  my 
guest?" 

"Thanks,  no,"  said  Miss  Detchmere,  gazing  stonily 
over  the  top  of  Joan's  head.  "  I  hardly  think  I  shall 
dine  here  again.  The  mob  that  frequents  the  Carlton 
is  becoming  rather  too  mixed  for  me." 

A  dark  tinge  of  red  flushed  Philip's  cheek-bones, 
and  his  eyes  grew  hard. 

"Lady  Dunluce,"  he  said,  "you  spoke  of  this  lady 
as  Miss  Ayre,  but  we  have  all  made  a  slight  error 


THE  KEY  TO  VICTORY  119 

there.  I  think  I  should  present  her  to  you  correctly." 
He  turned  towards  Joan  gravely.  "Allow  me,"  he 
said,  "to  introduce  Lady  Tallbois  of  Knayth." 

" I  beg  your  pardon?"  said  Lady  Dunluce  blankly. 

"Known  for  the  present  as  Miss  Joan  Tallbois," 
continued  Philip  suavely,  "but  great-niece  of  the 
eighth  Lord  Tallbois  and  now  sole  heiress  of  Knayth. 
The  case  comes  before  the  House  of  Lords  shortly. 
I  am  retained  as  counsel." 

"My  dear  Philip!"  said  Lady  Dunluce  with  an 
effort,  "is  such  a  delightful  thing  possible,  or  am  I 
dreaming?  Even  you  would  not  joke  on  such  a 
subject.  Is  she  going  to  win?" 

"It  is  unusual  for  a  barrister  to  prophesy,"  said 
Mottisfont  calmly,  "but  my  opinion  is  she  will  win." 

Hilda  Detchmere's  face  went  white  as  marble.  She 
looked  at  Joan,  first  in  blank  incredulity,  then  with 
such  inward  gust  of  rage  as  almost  showed  through 
her  iron  self-control.  Slowly  she  turned  her  eyes 
away  from  the  girl,  and  remained  motionless  as  a 
statue. 

"My  dear  child!"  exclaimed  Lady  Dunluce,  taking 
hold  of  Joan's  hand  and  beaming  at  her,  "I  cannot 
tell  you  how  pleased  I  am.  Philip,  give  me  a  chair. 
I  would  not  have  missed  this  for  anything.  I  was 
right,  then!" 

"Yes,  I'm  sure  you  were,"  said  Philip,  laughing, 
as  she  seated  herself  next  to  Joan ; ' '  but  what  about  ? " 

"Do  you  remember,"  said  Lady  Dunluce  quickly 
to  Joan,  "I  told  you  on  the  houseboat  you  reminded 
me  strangely  of  someone  ?  But  it  seemed  too  absurd 
to  be  true  then.  You  are  remarkably  like  poor  Alice 


120    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

Tallbois,  whom  I  used  to  know  at  Knayth — she  died 
a  year  ago.  Of  course,  you  never  knew  her — and 
yet  she  was  your  second  cousin.  You  have  unmis- 
takably the  Tallbois  face.  Now  tell  me  all  about  it. 
It  must  be  a  wonderful  story!" 

Mottisfont  glanced  at  Joan,  and  reading  consent 
in  her  eyes,  told  Lady  Dunluce  the  facts  briefly,  but 
graphically.  He  was  a  born  weaver  of  stories.  Of 
Vaille  and  Bell  he  said  little,  but  he  dwelt  on  the 
proofs  that  he  held,  and  above  all  on  the  tale  of  the 
Knayth  Goblet.  Lady  Dunluce  listened  with  shining 
eyes;  she  had  the  air  of  a  schoolgirl  slowly  absorbing 
a  luscious  plum. 

"Romance!  Romance!"  she  sighed,  with  intense 
relish.  "I  have  hunted  it  in  books,  on  the  stage,  in 
cinemas,  but  it  was  only  a  tinselled  fraud.  And 
here  in  the  Carlton  I  find  it  at  last !  I  am  floating 
among  clouds  of  roses  and  amber!  You  wonder- 
child,  you  will  make  all  London  ring!  You,  Lady 
Tallbois  of  Knayth!  Tell  me,  where  are  you  living 
now?" 

"In  Lambeth,"  laughed  Joan. 

"Lambeth?  Where  in  the  world  is  that?  Come 
and  stay  with  me  in  Charles  Street.  Be  my  guest 
until  you  come  into  your  kingdom.  I  shall  love  to 
have  you.  I  know  everyone  in  London  that  counts. 
I  will  make  easy  the  road  for  you,"  said  Lady  Dun- 
luce  benignantly,  "until  the  day  when  you  eclipse 
me  with  splendour!" 

Joan  opened  her  eyes  wide. 

"It  is  charming  of  you,"  she  said  dazedly,  "but 
I  cannot.  What  if  I  fail — suppose  they  find,  after 


THE  KEY  TO  VICTORY  121 

all,  I  am  a  fraud  ?    All  London  would  laugh  at  you ! " 

"Let  'em  laugh,"  said  Lady  Dunluce;  "who  cares? 
I  should  have  had  my  fun,  and  I'd  only  be  sorry  on 
your  account.  You  would  have  had  your  fun,  too." 
She  laid  her  hand  on  Joan's.  "My  dear,"  she  said 
gently,  "do  not  refuse  this.  I  am  a  lonely  old  woman, 
and  I  liked  you  very  much  from  the  moment  I  saw 
you.  You  will  make  me  happy  by  coming." 

Philip  glanced  at  Joan. 

"You  would  be  in  excellent,  safe  hands,"  he  mur- 
mured. "It  would  be  a  great  relief — to  your  friends. ' ' 

"How  can  I  thank  you  enough,"  exclaimed  Joan, 
her  eyes  filling.  "I  accept  gladly,  Lady  Dunluce." 

"Then  come  tomorrow — tonight,  if  you  like!" 
cried  the  kindly  old  dame. 

"Oh,  please  give  me  time.  And — I  cannot  break 
with  my  friends." 

"Bring  'em  all  to  dinner!"  said  Lady  Dunluce  im- 
pulsively. "The  boating-party  and  the  concertina 
as  well — we're  a  dull  lot  of  people  in  Charles  Street." 

All  three  melted  into  laughter,  and  the  table  was 
soon  the  merriest  spot  in  the  room.  There  were,  in 
fact,  only  three  to  rejoice.  Hilda  Detchmere  had  not 
waited  to  hear  either  the  story  or  the  invitation. 
None  of  them  noticed  her  departure;  she  walked 
down  the  room  towards  the  entrance,  a  tigerish  bit- 
terness at  her  heart. 

A  good-looking  young  man  dining  by  himself,  who 
had  been  keeping  an  unobtrusive  watch  on  Joan's 
party,  rose  and  smiled  as  Hilda  approached. 

"Ah,  Mr.  Drummond,"  she  said,  with  a  cool  nod. 

"Have  I  offended  you?"  he  asked,  in  slightly 


122    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

mocking  tones.  "I  thought  we  were  on  less  formal 
terms.  You  did  not  seem  to  appreciate  the  little 
typist,"  he  added,  under  his  breath. 

Hilda  started  almost  imperceptibly,  and  stared  at 
him.  "You  know  her?"  she  murmured.  "Tell 
me — "  She  checked  herself  and  took  a  seat  at  the 
table.  "Give  me  a  cigarette,  Harold." 

Drummond  opened  a  gold  case.  She  selected  a 
cigarette  with  fingers  that  trembled  slightly. 

"Do  you  know  that  girl  is  the  claimant  to  a  peer- 
age?" she  asked. 

"You  surprise  me,"  murmured  Drummond. 

Miss  Detchmere  looked  at  him  through  half-closed 
eyelids. 

"Do  I?"  she  said  slowly.  "I  doubt  it.  I  have 
never  known  any  information  surprise  you  yet — you 
are  a  singularly  well-informed  person.  What  do  you 
know  of  her-  affairs?" 

"Of  her  peerage,  perhaps  not  very  much.  But  of 
the  girl  herself,  I  know  a  good  deal.  The  man  with 
her  is  Mottisfont,  the  barrister,  is  it  not?  Do  not 
think  me  impertinent,  Hilda — but  I  fancy  the  girl 
annoys  you,"  said  Drummond  softly.  "Well,  I  who 
am  rather  well-informed,  as  you  say,  may  be  able  to 
do  you  a  service,  if  you  wish  it." 

Hilda  Detchmere's  eyes  flashed ;  she  leaned  gently 
towards  him. 

"Do  you  mean  that?"  she  said  in  a  whisper. 

* '  Certainly.  And  I  shall  require  from  you  a  service 
in  return." 

"You  shall  have  it,  whatever  it  is,"  she  murmured. 
"Tell  me " 


THE  KEY  TO  VICTORY  123 

A  slight  gesture  from  Drummond  stopped  her. 
The  party  of  three  from  the  other  table  were  passing 
on  their  way  out.  Lady  Dunluce  took  no  notice  of 
Hilda  Detchmere,  whose  insolence  to  Joan  had 
annoyed  her,  but  she  bowed  to  the  man. 

"Mr.  Drummond!  How  rarely  one  sees  you 
alone!"  she  said  a  little  maliciously,  as  she  went  by. 

"Who  was  that?"  asked  Philip,  when  they  reached 
the  vestibule. 

"Harold  Drummond?  A  pleasant,  idle  young 
dog, ' '  said  Lady  Dunluce  carelessly.  ' '  His  family  are 
neighbours  of  mine  in  Cheshire.  He  seems  to  do 
himself  pretty  well  considering  how  hard  up  they  are. 
He  is  always  disappearing  somewhere — big  game 
shooting,  I  believe.  Well,  Joan,  won't  you  change 
your  mind  and  come  to  me  tonight?" 

But  Joan  excused  herself,  and  thanking  them  both, 
promised  to  see  Lady  Dunluce  next  day.  She  in- 
sisted on  departing  by  herself  in  a  taxi,  and  declined 
all  escort.  When  Philip  had  disposed  of  Lady  Dun- 
luce  he  set  out  to  walk  home. 

Opening  the  oak  on  arriving  at  his  chambers  he 
saw  an  envelope,  unstamped,  lying  on  the  mat  be- 
neath the  letter-slit.  Philip  picked  it  up  absently, 
and  entering  the  front  room,  switched  on  the  light. 
Joan,  her  charm,  her  beauty,  the  spell  of  her  late 
presence,  gripped  his  heart  and  made  the  blood  race 
in  his  veins. 

"A  sweet  little  girl,  if  ever  there  was  one,"  he 
murmured,  "and  the  greatest  match  in  three  king- 
doms— if  she  wins — if  she  wins!" 

His  eye  fell  on  the  note  again.    With  a  little  curi- 


124   THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

osity  he  tore  it  open  and  drew  out  a  half -sheet  of 
paper  that  made  him  start  and  stare.  On  it  was 
printed  in  capitals  a  brief  message: 

HONEST  MEN  ARE  RARE.    YOU  MAY  BE  ONE,  OR  YOU 

MAY  NOT.    BUT  IF  EVER,  IN  WORD  OR  DEED,  YOU 

FAIL  JOAN  TALLBOIS— LOOK  TO  YOURSELF! 

At  first  Philip  was  wholly  puzzled.  Then  aston- 
ishment turned  to  wrath.  This,  surely,  was  some 
foolish  insolence  from  the  knaves  who  had  tried  to 
hold  up  the  Tallbois  evidence.  He  could  think  of  no 
other  solution. 

He  reddened  with  anger.  Whatever  Philip's  qual- 
ities, lack  of  courage  was  not  one.  A  threat  was  the 
last  thing  to  move  him.  He  ripped  the  message  to 
shreds  and  tossed  it  contemptuously  into  the  fire. 


CHAPTER  XII 

MR.  SLANEY  RESIGNS 

"THE  problem  before  us,"  said  Vaille  bitterly,  "is 
twofold.  In  the  first  place,  have  we  not  lost  all 
chance  of  a  great  coup  for  ourselves  through  Joan 
Tallbois'  inheritance?" 

He  looked  darkly  at  Callaghan,  who  sat  in  the 
arm-chair,  gazing  dreamily  before  him. 

"And,  secondly,"  said  Mr.  Bell,  whose  face  was 
peculiarly  white  and  shiny,  "are  not  the  lives  of  all 
five  of  us  in  such  danger  that  they  can  hardly  be 
said  to  be  worth  a  week's  purchase?  You  know  Slim 
Jim  better  than  I  do,  Chief." 

Mr.  Callaghan  neatly  cut  the  end  from  an  Havana 
with  a  little  silver  penknife,  and  peered  at  his  com- 
panions over  the  top  of  his  glasses. 

"The  answer  to  both  questions,"  he  said,  "is  in 
the  negative." 

He  lit  the  cigar  and  blew  a  cloud  of  smoke  with 
thoughtful  appreciation.  Mr.  Callaghan's  Coronas 
were  always  in  perfect  condition. 

"Let  us  shelve,  for  the  moment,  the  question  of 
danger,"  he  said.  "We  have  been  used  to  danger, 
any  time  these  ten  years.  We  have  skated,  now  and 
then,  on  singularly  thin  ice.  None  of  us  are  children 

125 


126    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

to  cry  out  before  we  are  hurt.  We  are  five — and 
more — against  one. 

1 ' It  is  now  four  days  since  the  safe  was  robbed  of 
those  documents  on  which  our  campaign  depended. 
We  have  proof  that  Slim  Jim  Carey  is  not  dead,  but 
most  accursedly  alive.  Of  that  there  is  no  doubt. 
With  a  skill  that  no  other  could  command,  he  has 
deprived  us  of  the  evidence  and  the  documents,  on 
which  our  campaign  was  founded.  So  far  from  mini- 
mising that  loss,  I  confess  that  it  staggered  even  me. 
We  had  to  ask  ourselves  what  use  Jim  Carey  would 
make  of  those  documents,  and  what  was  likely  to 
become  of  them.  That  question  is  already  solved." 
Mr.  Callaghan  paused.  "They  are  in  the  hands  of 
Philip  Mottisfont." 

"Are  you  sure,  Chief?"  cried  Drummond. 

"  I  am  telling  you  what  I  know.  Carey  sent  him 
the  whole  lot — lock,  stock,  and  barrel." 

Vaille  swore. 

' '  It  seems  an  incredible  thing  for  even  Slim  Jim  to 
do!"  he  exclaimed. 

' '  Not  at  all.  It  was  the  natural  and  common-sense 
thing  for  him  to  do.  Carey — I  still  prefer  to  call  him 
Carey,  and  not  Tallbois — dared  make  no  use  of  the 
proofs  himself.  Yet  his  interest  is  that  his  daughter 
should  win  the  Tallbois  inheritance,  when  Slim  Jim 
doubtless  intends  to  help  himself.  Now,  our  late 
leader  was  a  man  who  invariably  kept  himself  abreast 
of  everything  that  is  going  on.  He  must  have 
learned  that  this  Mottisfont,  barrister-at-law,  was 
in  touch  with  Joan,  and  acting  for  her.  Carey  saw 
his  chance  at  once.  He  would,  I  grieve  to  admit  it, 


MR.  SLANEY  RESIGNS  127 

prefer  to  trust  a  Temple  barrister  than — ourselves. 
I  have  no  doubt  he  has  been  shadowing  the  man. 
Therefore  he  checkmates  us,  as  he  thinks,  by  handing 
over  the  proofs,  anonymously,  to  Mottisfont,  who  is 
now  in  a  position  to  win  the  case  for  the  girl." 

"But  are  you  guessing  at  all  this,  Chief?"  ex- 
claimed Vaille. 

"Have  you  ever  known  me  to  guess?"  replied  Mr. 
Callaghan  impatiently.  "I  trust  I  have  not  less 
common  sense  than  Mr.  Carey.  Immediately  Mot- 
tisfont came  on  the  scene  and  threatened  to  be 
troublesome,  I  took  the  simple  precaution  of  having 
him  watched.  He  has  a  man-servant,  Arthur  Bridge 
— not  long  in  his  service.  It  is  my  experience  of 
bachelor's  men-servants  that  two  out  of  three  of 
them  can  be  bought,  if  the  price  is  high  enough.  I 
approached  this  man,  through  a  reliable  go-between, 
taking  every  precaution  of  course.  Bridge  was 
sounded  carefully;  he  proved  amenable,  and  was 
offered  a  handsome  retaining  fee  and  a  still  fatter 
bonus  for  anything  he  could  overhear  between  his 
master  and  Joan  Tallbois,  particularly  in  regard  to 
Joan's  claim  to  a  peerage.  I  am  happy  to  say, ' '  added 
Mr.  Callaghan,  sipping  his  port  with  gusto,  "that 
Bridge  has  earned  his  fee  very  thoroughly. 

"In  a  nutshell,  these  are  the  facts.  On  Thursday 
last  a  registered  package  arrived  for  Mottisfont, 
sent  from  a  Strand  post-office.  Shortly  afterwards 
Joan  Tallbois  called  on  Mottisfont  and  Bridge  heard 
enough  of  the  conversation  to  be  quite  certain  on  two 
points.  First,  the  package  contained  legal  evidence 
which  Mottisfont  was  confident  would  win  a  case. 


128    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

Secondly,  there  was  nothing  whatever  in  the  package 
to  show  where  it  came  from.  Mottisfont  and  the 
girl  talked  it  over,  but  they  were  both  completely 
puzzled.  Naturally,  they  could  not  possibly  guess 
the  secret.  Bridge  overheard  most  of  what  they  said. ' ' 

"Ah!"  said  Vaille,  "this  is  good  indeed.  Was 
Bridge's  eavesdropping  suspected,  by  any  chance?" 

"He  very  nearly  got  caught.  Mottisfont  seems  to 
be  a  suspicious  fellow.  However,  nothing  came  of  it ; 
Bridge  got  out  of  the  way  deftly,  and  will  be  more 
careful  in  future.  And  there,  gentlemen,  the  matter 
stands.  This  ineffable  Mottisfont  holds  the  key  to 
the  situation." 

"It  would  be  madness,  at  this  juncture,"  said  Mr. 
Callaghan,  "for  us  to  rob  that  Mottisfont  or  his 
solicitor  of  the  proofs.  No.  Our  line,  gentlemen,  is 
to  be  frank  and  openly  generous."  He  purred  gently 
over  his  port. 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"Observe,"  said  Mr.  Callaghan,  "we  still  hold  the 
bond,  and,  though  it  is  useless  to  us  now,  I  still 
believe  the  girl  will  fulfil  it  faithfully  if  we  play  our 
cards  deftly.  It  is  to  our  interest  that  she  should 
win  her  case  and  become  Lady  Tallbois.  In  any 
case,  when  she  has  that  enviable  position,  our  second 
campaign  will  be  opened.  My  suggestion,  gentlemen, 
is  this." 

He  raised  a  finger. 

"You,  Vaille,  should  write  a  letter  to  Philip  Mot- 
tisfont, which  I  shall  dictate.  It  will  give  you  the 
whole  credit  for  the  surrender  of  the  evidence.  I 
stake  my  judgment  on  that  letter." 


MR.  SLANEY  RESIGNS  129 

Vaille  opened  his  eyes  wide  and  whistled. 

"It  is  the  only  course  that  remains  open  to  us," 
persisted  Callaghan.  "It  has  its  dangers,  but  it 
cuts  the  ground  from  under  our  enemies'  feet,  and 
puts  us  right  with  Joan  Tallbois.  It  cannot  be  con- 
tradicted, and  since  no  one  can  do  that  but  Jim 
Carey,  who,  legally,  does  not  exist,  the  matter  will 
be  in  order." 

Callaghan  paused.  "A  majority  will  carry  the 
motion.  What  do  you  say,  Bell?" 

Mr.  Bell  half  closed  his  eyes,  and  reflected. 

"  I  say  it  is  masterly ! "  he  declared.  "  I  am  wholly 
in  favour  of  it." 

"It  may  get  me  into  an  infernal  tangle,"  objected 
Vaille,  hesitating,  "but  of  course  they  knew  I  had 
the  proofs " 

"And  you  surrender  them  honourably,"  beamed 
Mr.  Callaghan.  "According  yourself  the  luxury  of 
a  clear  and  unstained  conscience,  at  the  same  time 
ensuring  victory.  Let  the  other  side  do  the  work; 
we  will  reap  the  profits." 

"You're  right,  Chief!"  said  Vaille.  "I  agree,  and 
give  my  vote.  You  have  the  master-brain,  Chief!" 

"I  am  happy  in  your  approval,  gentlemen,"  said 
Mr.  Callaghan  pleasantly.  "Success  lies  not  merely 
in  holding  high  cards,  but  in  playing  a  bad  hand 
well." 

"You  do  not  suggest  that  we  give  up  our  bond?" 

"Of  course  not.  We  will  cut  our  pound  of  flesh. 
Nearest  the  heart,"  said  Mr.  Callaghan  with  relish. 
"And  there  will  be  no  Portia  to  deny  it  us.  And  now 
let  me  set  your  minds  at  rest  regarding  Slim  Jim, 


130    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

for  I  believe  we  are  in  no  immediate  danger  from 
that  source,  and  I  do  not  like  to  see  this  nervousness 
— it  is  unworthy  of  you. 

"We  have  been  deceived,  in  common  with  the 
Foreign  Legion,  by  one  of  those  intensely  inconven- 
ient coincidences  which  do  occur  in  life — and  death — 
and  war.  Le  Mesurier,  alias  Tallbois,  known  to  us 
as  Slim  Jim,  was  on  the  lists  of  'killed  in  action/ 
Clearly  that  is  wrong.  A  man  disintegrated  by  a 
high-explosive  shell  is,  I  understand,  difficult  to  iden- 
tify. Some  other  victim  of  the  Boche,  I  suppose, 
lies  in  the  Argonne  under  a  wooden  cross,  marked 
with  our  former  comrade's  nom  de  guerre.  He  is  not 
the  only  one — it  is  a  thing  that  constantly  happened 
during  that  extremely  messy  war.  What  really  hap- 
pened to  Jim  we  can  only  guess.  The  one  thing  that 
matters  is  that  he  is  alive,  and  in  our  midst.  Nothing 
could  have  been  more  fortunate  for  him  than  to  be 
officially  dead,  and  struck  from  the  records  of  the 
police. 

"But  what  follows?  Never  can  he  dare  declare 
himself,  whatever  befall!  His  neck  is  forfeit  to  the 
Law,  for  any  one  of  us — particularly  Slaney — can 
instantly  connect  him  with  Slim  Jim  Carey.  The 
sequel  will  be  an  arrest,  trial,  and  a  hanging,  as 
surely  as  night  follows  day." 

Mr.  Bell  nodded. 

"Therefore  he  cannot  denounce  us.  And,  doubly, 
he  cannot  now  make  himself  known,  for  his  daughter's 
sake.  Neither  can  we  denounce  him,  for  we  should 
all  go  down  together!  Hence,"  said  Mr.  Callaghan, 
spreading  out  his  white  hands,  "a  deadlock!" 


MR.  SLANEY  RESIGNS  131 

"Sure  enough,"  said  Vaille,  "but " 

"What,  then,  can  he  do?"  pursued  Callaghan. 
"Execute  a  personal  vengeance  on  some  of  us,  as 
he  threatened?  But  where,  now,  is  the  motive?  He 
believes,  you  see,  that  he  has  defeated  us ;  in  robbing 
us  of  these  documents  he  has  drawn  our  teeth  and 
rendered  us  impotent.  In  a  sense,  that  is  true.  Con- 
sequently, he  is  likely  to  let  us  alone,  for  the  present." 

Callaghan  rose  from  his  chair. 

"Therefore,  my  friends,"  he  said  softly,  "now, 
while  he  is  off  his  guard  as  far  as  we  are  concerned,  and 
lying  low,  is  the  time  for  us  to  strike  at  him!"  He 
tapped  Vaille  gently  on  the  shoulder.  "Already  I 
have  set  matters  in  motion  for  the  removal  of  Slim 
Jim.  And  this  time  there  will  be  no  resurrection  for 
him.  Trust  me  for  that!"  One  of  Mr.  Callaghan's 
rare  smiles  exposed  his  sharp  eye-teeth.  "I  think 
you  will  find  we  are  no  longer  in  danger  from  Jim 
Carey."  . 

An  electric  vibrator  on  the  wall  buzzed  twice 
faintly.  Mr.  Callaghan  moved  to  the  door,  and  after 
listening  a  moment  drew  back  the  bolts  and  opened  it. 

The  newcomer  was  Slaney.  He  stumbled,  rather 
than  walked,  into  the  room.  His  face  was  livid,  a 
great  bruise  marked  it  from  temple  to  jaw.  In  his 
eyes  was  a  look  of  dreadful,  beast-like  terror;  the 
terror  that  is  seen  in  the  eyes  of  a  hunted  animal. 

Vaille  and  Bell  looked  at  him  aghast. 

"You!"  exclaimed  Callaghan.  "What  news, 
Slaney?  Why  have  you  left  your  post  at  Knayth?" 

"Knayth!"  gasped  Slaney.  "Do  you  know  that 
devil  Carey  is  alive — alive  in  spite  of  all  the  yarns 


132    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

you  spun  us,  an1  that  he's  been  to  Knayth!  I've 
come  up  against  him!" 

He  looked  at  the  partners  and  shuddered. 

"Ah!"  said  Vaille,  drawing  in  his  breath  sharply. 
"And  what— then?" 

"Don't  ask  me!"  said  Slaney  thickly.  "I  dunno 
how  I  gave  him  the  slip — I  dunno  how  it  is  I'm  livin' 
at  this  moment.  I  guess  I  won't  be,  unless  I  get 
clear  away,  sharp!" 

He  seized  the  decanter,  and  gulped  down  the  raw 
brandy. 

"I'm  done  with  it!  I  quit!  He  knows  I  put  his 
daughter  over  to  you!  It's  across  the  water  for 
me " 

"Slaney!"  said  Mr.  Callaghan  sharply. 

' ' Cut  it  out ! ' '  cried  the  man .  "I'm  done  with  your 
lot,  Chief.  I'll  keep  my  mouth  shut,  for  you  know 
well  I  daren't  do  anything  else.  But  I  wouldn't  stay 
by  it  if  you  cut  the  hide  off  me !  It's  more'n  a  man 
can  face!" 

He  staggered  to  the  door,  and  they  heard  him 
stumbling  down  the  corridor.  Drummond  made  a 
movement  as  though  to  stop  him. 

"No!"  said  Callaghan.    "Let  him  go!" 

The  partners  looked  at  each  other.  Mr.  Bell's 
face  had  not  much  more  colour  in  it  than  the  de- 
parted Slaney's.  The  Chief  rose. 

"We  are  rid  of  a  coward,"  he  said  quietly.  "Sla- 
ney has  served  his  turn.  Gentlemen,  I  promise  you 
victory.  I  accept  Jim  Carey's  challenge!" 


CHAPTER  XIII 

A   BOMBSHELL 

PHILIP,  returning  from  the  Courts  of  Justice  to  his 
chambers,  found  an  official-looking  letter  awaiting 
him.  When  he  had  opened  and  read  it  he  gave  a 
slow  whistle  and  smiled  grimly. 

PHILIP  MOTTISFONT, 
Barrister-at-Law. 

SIR, 

Certain  evidence  having  come  into  my  hands  concern- 
ing the  claim  of  Miss  Joan  Tallbois  to  the  peerage  of 
Tallbois  of  Knayth,  I  learn  it  is  the  wish  of  Miss  Tallbois 
that  you  should  act  as  her  representative  and  accept  brief 
as  her  counsel.  I  understand  that  some  exception  was 
taken  by  you  to  my  part  in  this  matter. 

Under  these  circumstances,  the  only  course  consistent 
with  my  honour  was  to  forward  all  documents  to  you, 
that  you  might  take  such  action  as  you  saw  fit.  On 
Thursday  last,  therefore,  I  sent  all  evidence  in  my  pos- 
session to  you,  per  registered  post.  I  dispatched  these 
documents  anonymously,  as  I  preferred,  after  what  Miss 
Tallbois  said  to  me,  to  claim  no  interest  in  the  matter. 

I  feel,  however,  on  consideration  that  I  ought  to  receive 
formal  acknowledgment  of  these  papers  having  been 
received  by  you.  Any  arrangement  which  exists  is 
purely  between  Miss  Tallbois  and  myself.  I  disclaim 

i33 


134    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

responsibility  for  the  case,  and  my  only  wish  is  for  the 
legal  success  of  Miss  Tallbois. 

I  am,  sir, 

Yours  truly, 

NORMAN  VAILLE. 

"Well,  I'm  hanged!"  said  Mottisfont. 
He  read  the  note  again,  his  forehead  puckered 
thoughtfully.    Then  he  opened  the  other  letter. 

PHILIP  MOTTISFONT,  Esq., 
155  Bedford  Row,  W.C. 

In  re  the  claim  of  Miss  Joan  Tallbois  to  the  estates  of 
Knayth. 

SIR, 

My  client,  Mr.  Norman  Vaille,  has  taken  a  course 
which  he  has  explained  to  you,  and  has  sent  such  evidence 
as  he  possessed,  bearing  on  above  claim.  Since  Miss 
Tallbois  wishes  to  retain  you  as  counsel,  a  course  with 
which  I  did  not  agree,  I  approve  Mr.  Vaille's  action. 
This  is  without  prejudice  to  any  agreement  existing 
between  Mr.  Vaille  and  Miss  Tallbois;  it  is  understood 
that  no  liability  of  course  attaches  to  Mr.  Vaille  for  any 
proceedings  you  may  see  fit  to  initiate. 

Yours  faithfully, 

THEOPHILUS  BELL. 

Mottisfont  threw  the  letter  down. 

"There  are  no  limits  to  this  amazing  case!"  he 
said.  "The  deeper  we  wade  into  it,  the  more  baffling 
it  becomes!" 

He  perused  the  letters  carefully,  and  then,  fetching 


A  BOMBSHELL  135 

the  Tallbois  documents  from  a  heavy  strong-room 
box  in  his  bedroom,  examined  and  compared  them 
carefully  for  some  time.  A  visitor  was  announced, 
an  elderly  gentleman,  grave,  florid,  and  clean-shaven. 
It  was  Mr.  Langley,  head  of  a  firm  of  solicitors  of  the 
highest  standing.  He  had  had  a  long  consultation 
with  Philip  on  the  case  the  previous  day. 

"Good  morning,  Mottisfont,"  he  said.  "I  am 
punctual,  you  see,  and  I  hope  Miss  Tallbois  will  be, 
too.  I  am  anxious  to  meet  her.  We  should,  I  think, 
make  rapid  progress  with  this  affair." 

"I  expect  her  every  moment,"  said  Philip.  "But 
just  look  at  these  two  letters,  Langley,  and  tell  me 
what  you  make  of  them." 

Mr.  Langley  read  the  two  notes.  They  amazed 
him.  He  frowned  deeply,  and  stared  at  Mottisfont. 
Just  then  the  bell  rang  again,  and  Joan  entered, 
looking  fresh  as  the  morning  dew.  She  shook  hands 
warmly  with  Philip. 

"This  is  Mr.  Langley,  who  will  prepare  the  case  in 
which  I  am  briefed,"  said  Philip,  and  Joan  bowed 
charmingly  to  the  solicitor.  "Regard  him  as  your 
strongest  ally.  But  I  should  like  you  to  see  these 
two  bomb-shells  that  have  been  dropped  on  us  this 
morning,  Miss  Joan." 

He  handed  Joan  the  letters.  She  read  them,  and 
her  face  lit  up  with  delight. 

"I  said  that  Mr.  Vaille  might  have  sent  the 
proofs!"  she  cried.  "And  I  am  only  too  glad  to  find 
it  is  true.  I  think  we  owe  him  an  apology,  don't  you  ? 
Surely  you  see  now  he  is  a  man  of  honour!" 

"As  a  lawyer,"  said  Mr.  Langley,  "I  don't  admit 


136    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

anything  so  sweeping,  Miss  Tallbois.  Why  were 
they  first  sent  anonymously,  and  the  credit  for  doing 
so  claimed  afterwards?  We  have  only  Mr.  Vaille's 
word  for  it." 

"It  is  a  piece  of  bluff,"  said  Philip  contemptuously. 

"But  if  he  did  not  send  them,  who  did? "  protested 
Joan. 

"It  certainly  looks,  on  the  face  of  it,  as  if  he  did 
send  them,"  said  Langley.  "And  I  am  quite  willing 
to  believe  it.  It  clears  the  ground,  at  any  rate,  and 
the  proofs,  I  honestly  believe,  are  perfectly  genuine." 

"One  thing  I'm  very  sure  of,"  said  Philip  grimly. 
"These  documents,  which  will  be  in  your  charge  for 
investigation,  Langley,  must  be  secured  every  night 
in  an  impregnable  safe-deposit,  beyond  all  possible 
reach  of  theft." 

"I  agree  cordially,"  said  Mr.  Langley,  "though  I 
should  not  think  there  is  any  danger.  These  letters 
are  very  cleverly  worded.  They  are  intended  to 
place  Mr.  Vaille  and  Mr.  Bell  on  a  firm  footing.  So 
far  they  are  successful.  But  I  regard  it  as  an  impu- 
dent attempt  to  throw  the  burden  of  expense  on  you, 
while  they  intend  finally  to  claim  under  that  rash 
agreement  you  made,  and  increase  their  profit. 
That  they  can  no  longer  do,  however.  You  are  free 
of  them  from  this  moment." 

"How?" 

"We  shall  send  a  formal  acknowledgment  of  these 
letters,  but  I  will  be  no  party  to  acknowledging  their 
absurd  claim.  When  you  have  your  estate,  Miss 
Tallbois,  you  may,  if  you  like,  send  Mr.  Vaille  what- 
ever small  honorarium  you  feel  his  alleged  documents 


A  BOMBSHELL  137 

are  worth — say,  a  few  hundreds.  He  has  no  right  to 
expect  anything." 

"And  I,"  said  Joan,  "tell  you  that  I  am  more  de- 
termined than  ever  to  fulfil  my  contract.  Without 
Mr.  Vaille's  evidence  I  should  never  have  had  a 
claim.  He  now  entrusts  it  all  to  me,  and  leaves  the 
rest  to  my  sense  of  honour.  I  shall  certainly  pay 
in  full." 

Mr.  Langley  sighed.  He  had  had  a  long  experience 
of  the  ways  of  lady  clients,  and  was  only  sure  that 
he  never  understood  them. 

"It  is  a  strange  business,  certainly — these  letters," 
said  Joan .  "  B  ut  many  strange  things  have  happened 
to  me — since  I  drank  from  the  Knayth  Goblet." 

Mr.  Langley  smiled  drily.  He  had  heard  the  story, 
and  it  left  him  cold.  His  mind  was  not  of  the  ro- 
mantic order.  Philip,  however,  looked  at  Joan 
keenly. 

"Tell  me,"  he  said,  "do  you  remember  anything 
else  unusual  that  happened  to  you  on  that  day  when 
you  were  at  Knayth?  I  have  a  reason  for  asking." 

A  shadow  passed  over  Joan's  face,  as  though  an 
ugly  memory  were  awakened. 

"I  have  hardly  thought  of  it  since,"  she  said,  "but 
it  seemed  to  me  that  when  I  was  at  Knayth  I  saw 
a  face  looking  at  me  through  the  window — an  evil, 
unpleasant  face,  and  I  felt  so  strange  and  faint  that 
I  let  the  steward  give  me  wine — in  the  Goblet." 

"A  face?  Whose?"  said  Philip.  "A  man's  or  a 
woman's?  Was  it  a  face  that  you  knew?  What  did 
you  think  it  meant?" 

"I  cannot  tell.    Very  possibly  it  was  only  fancy. 


138    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

I  was  feeling  faint  and  weak  that  morning ;  I  expect 
I  imagined  it." 

"You  have  not  seen  it  since?" 

"No." 

Mr.  Langley  looked  impatient.  But  Mottisfont 
persisted. 

"Can  you  think  of  anything  that  occurred  to  you 
that  day,  Miss  Joan.  Never  mind  how  trifling  it 
seems  to  you — tell  us  about  it." 

"No,"  said  Joan,  "I  don't  think  so.  Except  a 
tramp  I  met — or  rather  he  followed  me,  and  spoke 
to  me." 

"Indeed?    When,  and  where?" 

"On  my  way  back  from  Knayth,"  she  began.  "He 
came — "  Joan  paused  suddenly  and  checked  her- 
self. A  strong,  unsought  instinct  seemed  to  stir  in 
her,  a  silent  warning,  which  she  could  not  in  the 
least  explain.  It  was  as  though  a  quiet  voice  were 
at  her  ear,  bidding  her  be  silent.  After  all,  why 
should  she  say  anything  about  the  courtly  tramp  to 
these  two  lawyers?  He  could  be  no  concern  of 
theirs,  and  she  was  only  wasting  time. 

"Oh,  it  was  just  a  beggar,  who  asked  alms  of  me," 
she  said,  indifferently.  "I  gave  him  sixpence  and 
he  went  on  his  way." 

Philip  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Nothing  very  unusual  about  that,"  said  Mr. 
Langley,  drily. 

"Possibly  not,"  said  Philip  slowly.  "Let  us  get 
on  with  these  documents.  They,  at  least,  are  real." 

Mottisfont  and  Langley  settled  down  to  the  docu- 
ments with  a  business-like  air,  as  if  glad  to  get  away 


A  BOMBSHELL  139 

from  vagueness  and  mystery.  They  asked  Joan  an 
infinity  of  questions,  making  notes  of  everything  she 
was  able  to  tell  them,  and  after  two  hours  of  this, 
Joan  was  fairly  exhausted,  and  Mr.  Langley  expressed 
himself  extremely  well  satisfied. 

"It  is  not  my  habit  to  be  as  enthusiastic  as  our 
young  friend  here,"  he  said  to  Joan,  tapping  Philip 
on  the  shoulder,  "but  I  see  every  hope  of  an  early 
and  successful  issue,  Miss  Tallbois.  Already,  though 
we  have  only  been  at  work  seven  days,  several  of 
the  necessary  witnesses  have  been  found.  Some  are 
in  England,  as  it  happens,  and  the  others  are  com- 
municated with.  Mottisfont  has  been  immensely 
energetic." 

"But  who  is  paying  for  all  this!"  exclaimed  Joan, 
with  sudden  suspicion.  "I  have  no  agreement  with 
you  about  that." 

"My  dear  madam,"  said  Mr.  Langley  severely, 
"you  will  be  good  enough  to  wait  until  you  receive  my 
taxed  bill  of  costs  and  expenses,  which  I  shall  deliver 
to  you  at  the  proper  time  and  in  the  proper  form!" 

Joan  felt  crushed. 

"Quite  right,  Miss  Joan,"  said  Philip,  laughing. 
"Never  harass  your  legal  advisers.  Mr.  Langley  is 
as  mild  as  milk  till  he's  interfered  with — then  he 
becomes  formidable." 

"And  you,"  said  Joan.  "I  think  you  are  formid- 
able too!" 

"On  the  contrary,"  answered  Philip,  smiling, 
"great  ladies  can  command  poor  barristers." 

"Ah!  don't  make  fun  of  me,"  said  Joan  a  little 
piteously. 


140    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

"It  is  the  last  thing  in  my  mind.  I  shall  work 
heart  and  soul  for  you.  And  I  have  a  piece  of  good 
news.  You  wished  to  learn  more  about  your  father  ? ' ' 

"Above  all  things!" 

"Well,  one  of  our  most  important  witnesses  is  the 
ship's  captain  who  saved  his  life — knowing  no  more 
than  the  dead,  of  course,  who  it  was  that  he  saved. 
These  papers,"  said  Philip,  "have  enabled  us  to  trace 
that  excellent  sea-dog.  I  have  already  had  an  inter- 
view with  him  and  expect  him  here  at  any  moment. 
On  him  our  case  largely  depends.  And  that  sounds 
like  his  powerful  footstep  at  the  door." 

The  bell  rang,  and  Mottisfont's  servant  showed  in 
a  large  and  amply-bearded  gentleman  of  mature 
years. 

"Miss  Joan,"  said  Mottisfont,  with  a  twinkle  in 
his  eye,  "let  me  introduce  you  to  the  man  who  saved 
your  father  from  the  sea." 

Joan,  her  bosom  heaving  quickly,  turned  to  face 
the  rough-looking  man  with  the  wrinkled  features, 
who  stood  turning  his  hat  round  and  round  in  his 
embarrassment. 

"Captain  Grier,  Miss,  at  your  service,"  he  said 
huskily.  "An*  proud  to  be  of  any  use  to  you." 

"That's  a  mild  way  of  putting  it,"  said  Mottisfont. 
"Of  course  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  captain  here, 
there  would  be  no  Tallbois  Claimant  Case  today, 
and  I  should  have  missed  the  most  interesting  client 
I  ever  had." 

With  an  impulsive  gesture  Joan  took  the  old  sea- 
man's rough  hands  in  hers. 

"How  can  I  ever  thank  you?"  she  said  in  a  low 


A  BOMBSHELL  141 

voice.  "It  is  foolish  to  speak  of  thanks  for  such  a 
service  as  yours."  There  were  tears  in  her  eyes  as 
she  spoke.  The  beauty  and  charm  of  the  girl  com- 
pletely overcame  the  ancient  mariner;  he  looked  at 
her  with  awe,  and  the  hundred  wrinkles  on  his  face 
turned  a  rich  plum  colour. 

"Well,  that  repays  me  over  an'  over,"  he  stam- 
mered, "an'  I  didn't  know  no  more  than  the  dead 
who  it  was  I  picked  up.  If  I  had " 

' '  Tell  me  about  it ! "  cried  Joan  eagerly.  ' '  Tell  me 
about  my  father.  You  can  guess  how  wonderful  a 
story  it  is  to  me!" 

"Well,  Miss — I  mean  ma'am — that's  to  say,  my 
lady, ' '  replied  Grier  confusedly.  "  I ' ve  heard  the  rest 
of  it  from  Mr.  Mottisfont  here,  he's  got  my  yarn 
down  in  writing,  an'  I  must  say  his  part  o'  the  story 
knocks  mine  into  a  cocked  hat,  savin'  your  presence. 
It  caps  anything  I've  heard  in  all  my  going  to  sea; 
an'  I've  seen  some  queer  things,  too.  What  I  can 
tell  you  ain't  much.  It  was  on  the  first  January, 
1898,  forty  miles  sou'-sou'  east  of  Key  West,  at  six 
bells  in  the  forenoon  watch,  we  sighted  a  man  lashed 
to  a  driftin'  spar,  got  him  aboard,  thought  he  was 
dead  at  first,  but,  after  a  long  job,  we  brought  him 
round.  A  fine  lookin'  young  fellow  he  was — not 
much  more'n  a  boy.  When  he  could  speak  he  asks, 
'Where  am  I?' 

"'On  the  S.S.  Carrickmore,'  I  says.  'You  was 
pretty  nigh  dead,  but  you're  safe  now;  an'  you're 
goin'  to  live.'  I  remember  his  answer,  I  do,  as  if 
'twas  yesterday." 

"What  was  it?"  asked  Joan  quickly. 


142    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

"So  much  the  worse  for  me,'  he  says,  an'  then  he 
went  off  to  sleep,  an'  slept  seven  hours.  He  was  a 
tough  'un — the  sort  you  can't  kill,  an'  built  like  a 
greyhound.  When  he'd  got  up  an'  had  a  meal,  he 
was  as  fit  as  a  tiger,  an'  he  half -killed  my  mulatto 
cook — a  fourteen-stone  terror — for  givin'  him  sauce. 
An'  though  he  was  only  dressed  in  a  suit  of  greasy 
dungarees  the  carpenter  lent  him,  he  held  himself 
like  a  king.  He  thanked  me,  uncommon  polite. 
When  we  was  bringing  him  round  I  saw  a  tattoo- 
mark  on  his  left  arm — a  blue  dragon,  with  a  couple 
of  words  under  it  that  looked  like  gibberish — I 
reckoned  they  was  Eyetalian.  A  funny  lookin' 
dragon  it  was — the  sort  of  thing  a  man  might 
see  after  a  long  spell  at  the  rum  barrel,  savin'  your 
presence." 

"Like  this?"  said  Mottisfont,  smiling,  as  he  laid 
on  the  table  an  impression  of  the  Tallbois  crest  and 
motto — a  fierce-looking  heraldic  wyvern,  with  the 
inscription  "Semper  Vigilans." 

"The  very  thing!"  nodded  the  skipper.  "What 
does  them  words  mean,  sir?" 

"One  might  translate  them  freely — 'I  am  always 
on  the  watch,'"  replied  Mottisfont  with  a  laugh. 

"I  should  say  it  suited  him,"  said  the  skipper. 
"He'd  a  pair  of  eyes  that  didn't  miss  much.  I  can't 
say  he  brought  me  much  luck,"  added  Grier  sorrow- 
fully, "for  the  Carrickmore  piled  herself  up  next  day 
an'  became  a  total  wreck — a  thing  that  never  hap- 
pened to  me  before.  We  all  got  ashore,  an'  I  never 
saw  that  passenger  again.  To  think  that  he'd  be  a 
lord  if  he  was  livin'  now!  As  for  me,  I  lost  my  job, 


A  BOMBSHELL  143 

though  it  was  no  fault  of  mine,  an'  luckily  havin'  a 
little  saved,  I  gave  up  the  sea." 

"One  thing  I  promise  you  upon  my  honour,"  said 
Joan  emotionally,  taking  the  skipper's  hand  in  hers 
again.  "You  shall  never  lack  a  friend,  Captain 
Grier,  while  I  live;  and  you  shall  be  no  loser  when  I 
come  into  my  own." 

"In  the  meantime,"  said  Philip  drily,  "hold  your- 
self in  readiness,  Mr.  Grier,  to  give  your  evidence 
before  the  courts,  for  it  will  very  soon  be  required 
now.  Keep  yourself  daily  in  touch  with  me." 

The  skipper  nodded,  and  made  his  farewells. 
When  he  had  gone,  Philip  turned  to  Joan. 

"  I  have  something  else  here  to  show  you,"  he  said. 
"The  French  Army  record  of  Sergeant  Le  Mesurier, 
of  the  Foreign  Legion.  A  full  description  and  all 
identity  marks — including  a  blue  tattooed  wyvern 
on  the  left  arm,  with  motto  'Semper  Vigilans.1  The 
record  also  shows  that  he  was  awarded  the  Croix  de 
Guerre  for  gallantry  in  action,  and  twice  afterwards 
the  bronze  star  to  it." 

Joan's  eyes  grew  misty  as  she  looked  at  these 
relics  of  her  dead  father. 

"  Our  case,"  continued  Philip,  "is  now  all  but  com- 
pleted. Application  has  been  made,  and  on  the 
arrival  of  the  American  witnesses  it  will  proceed 
forthwith.  For  we  now  have  the  statement  of  your 
late  guardian,  Janet  Mackellar,  that  she  left  in  trust 
for  you,  and  it  clinches  the  case  even  better  than  I 
could  have  hoped.  Failure  is  now  impossible.  Mr. 
Langley  has  it." 

Langley,  who  throughout  had  been  sitting  silent 


144    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

at  the  desk  by  the  window,  grave  and  rather  disap- 
proving, came  forward  with  a  paper. 

"This  is  a  copy,"  said  Philip,  taking  it;  "the  origi- 
nal remains  with  the  Public  Trustee."  He  looked  at 
Joan  and  hesitated.  "  I  fear,"  he  added  gently,  "that 
this  letter  of  Janet  Mackellar's  may  cause  you  pain, 
and  perhaps  it  would  be  better  for  you  to  remain 
ignorant  of  its  contents.  There  is  no  real  necessity, 
Miss  Joan,  for  you  to  read  it  if  you  prefer  not." 

"No  matter,"  said  Joan  instantly  and  with  de- 
cision. "Give  it  me." 

She  took  the  paper,  and  as  she  read  it,  a  strange 
thrill,  a  sense  of  darkness  and  danger,  crept  over  her 
through  this  message  from  the  dead. 

MY  DEAREST  LITTLE  JOAN, — 

When  this  at  last  is  placed  in  your  hands  the  little 
money  I  had  to  leave  you  will  be  yours,  and  I  think  you 
will  then  need  it  more  than  you  do  now.  For  I  have 
a  feeling  that  trouble  will  come  upon  you  with  the  years. 
And  I  know  I  am  near  my  end.  But  I  have  a  confession 
to  make. 

Your  name  is  not  Ayre.  That  is  a  name  I  gave  to 
you  myself,  for  good  reasons,  when  you  were  still  too 
young  to  remember  any  other. 

You  are  the  daughter  of  Helen  Lloyd  and  William 
Travers  Tallbois,  Englishman,  who  married  your  mother 
at  Calcraf t,  South  Georgia,  in  1 898.  Your  mother  died 
and  confided  you  to  my  care.  I  have  tried  to  justify 
that  trust,  and  I  loved  you  as  I  have  never  loved  any 
other  living  creature.  You  were  the  brightest  ray  in 
my  life. 

Your  father  never  again  used  his  true  name,  for  he 


A  BOMBSHELL  145 

dared  not  use  it,  nor  ever  openly  claimed  you  as  his 
daughter.  He  knew  where  you  were,  and  he  agreed  with 
the  course  I  had  chosen.  He  came  sometimes  to  see  you. 
He  was  the  man  you  knew  as  "Uncle  Jim." 

I  believe  your  father  is  now  dead.  It  is  not  for  me  to 
speak  ill  of  the  dead.  I  knew  but  a  little  of  William 
Tallbois'  life,  and  what  I  know  I  shall  not  tell  you,  even 
now.  I  will  only  say  that  it  was  evil  and  wicked. 

I  confess  that  I  hated  William  Tallbois.  I  hated  to 
see  him  with  you.  I  dreaded  his  influence  over  your 
future.  I  did  my  utmost  to  separate  his  life  from  yours. 
In  the  end,  I  fled  with  you,  in  the  hope  of  escaping  from 
him  for  ever. 

How  far  this  was  due  to  my  jealousy  of  him  and  my 
love  for  you,  I  do  not  know.  If  I  have  sinned,  I  pray  for 
forgiveness,  where  alone  forgiveness  should  be  sought. 

I  could  not  tell  you  all  this  while  I  lived,  for  fear  that 
you  should  turn  against  me  and  hate  me.  I  should  wish 
to  keep  the  secret  from  you  for  all  time.  But  I  dare  not 
take  so  much  upon  me.  You  have  the  right  to  know, 
and  to  choose  your  way  of  life,  and  your  name. 

Don't  think  too  hardly  of  me,  little  Joan.  Try  and 
forgive  a  hard,  dour  old  woman  who  guarded  you  and 
loved  you. 

But  take  this  solemn  warning  from  the  dead,  and 
remember  I  speak  from  knowledge.  Keep  the  name  of 
Ayre.  Never  seek  to  solve  the  secret  of  the  other,  nor 
to  claim  it  for  your  own.  For  so  it  will  be  better  for  your 
life,  for  your  happiness — and  for  your  soul. 

JANET  MACKELLAR. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

EMMIE  LOOKS  AHEAD 

JOAN  stood  in  the  squalid  little  top-floor  room  in 
Lambeth  and  looked  about  her  with  mingled  feelings. 
How  curiously  mean  and  unattractive  the  place 
seemed  now.  For  many  weeks  past  Joan  had  been 
installed  at  Charles  Street  as  the  guest  of  Lady 
Dunluce.  Already  she  felt  as  perfectly  at  home  there 
as  if  Mayfair  had  always  been  her  abode.  Her 
hostess  was  both  considerate  and  charming.  She 
could  not  make  enough  of  Joan.  The  careless,  com- 
fort-surrounded life  of  the  well-to-do  had  been 
wrapped  about  the  girl  like  a  cloak.  There  had  been 
dinners  and  little  dances;  small  parties  of  happy, 
easy-mannered  folk,  and  Joan  had  made  many 
acquaintances  among  those  who  formerly  had  been 
no  more  than  names  to  her.  The  Tallbois  Claimant, 
endorsed  socially  by  so  influential  and  sporting  a 
dame  as  Joan's  hostess,  became  a  social  celebrity. 
And  the  uncertainty  of  the  affair  made  it  all  the  more 
piquant  for  those  who  sought  her  acquaintance. 

And  now  Joan,  for  an  hour,  found  herself  back  in 
Lambeth.  What  a  difference  there  was  between  the 
two  places,  and  how  sordid  appeared  the  dinginess 
of  the  bed-sitting-room  the  girl  friends  had  shared. 
Yet  a  curious  regret  tinged  Joan's  feelings.  Beforelife 

146 


EMMIE  LOOKS  AHEAD  147 

became  so  gilded  and  wonderful  a  thing,  she  had  been 
very  happy  there  with  red-headed  little  Emmie  Clegg. 
Of  Emmie  she  had  seen  nothing  whatever  for 
nearly  a  fortnight — not,  indeed,  since  the  day  follow- 
ing Joan's  change  of  fortune.  All  she  had  had  was  a 
letter  from  Emmie  to  say  that  her  uncle,  the  market 
gardener  at  Clievemead,  was  ill,  and  that  she  had 
leave  from  Puttock  &  Copes  to  go  down  and  nurse 
him.  Since  then,  not  a  word. 

Joan,  in  fact,  had  returned  in  the  hope  of  finding 
fresh  news  of  Emmie;  not  with  the  idea  of  bringing 
anything  away  from  the  place.  There  was  nothing 
in  that  dismal  room  that  she  needed.  She  had  sent 
to  the  agent  and  paid  the  rent  of  the  room  for  two 
quarters  in  advance.  There  were  no  letters ;  no  sign 
of  her  friend.  But,  at  that  moment,  as  Joan  stood 
by  the  broken  table,  reflecting,  she  heard  a  well- 
remembered  step  on  the  stair. 

The  door  opened,  and  Emmie  Clegg  appeared — 
dressed  from  head  to  foot  in  sombre,  tight-fitting 
black,  that  heightened  the  effect  of  her  freckled 
white  skin  and  flaming  red  hair.  She  stopped  in 
amazement  on  seeing  Joan,  who  the  next  moment 
had  her  in  her  arms  and  kissed  her  fondly. 

"Emmie!" 

"Joan!"  gasped  Emmie.  And  then  she  freed  her- 
self and  stepped  back. 

"S'pose  I  ought  to  say  'my  lady,'"  she  remarked 
drily. 

"For  goodness'  sake  don't  let  us  talk  nonsense! 
Never  mind  all  that.  What  is  wrong,  Emmie  ? ' '  said 
Joan  anxiously.  "  You  are  in  mourning ! " 


148    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

"Poor  old  Uncle  Ben,"  said  Emmie  in  melancholy 
accents.  "  Been  nursing  him ;  no  one  else  there  fit  to 
do  it."  She  coughed  huskily.  "No  good.  Buried 
him  yesterday." 

Joan  felt  a  pang  of  sorrow.  She  remembered  too 
well  the  kindly,  simple  old  man  who  had  been  her 
host  and  Emmie's  on  that  wonderful  Bank  Holiday 
week-end  at  Clievemead. 

"Emmie!   What  can  I  say.    I  am  so  sorry " 

"Can't  be  helped.  All  got  to  go  the  same  way," 
said  Emmie,  shaking  her  head.  "Don't  let's  talk 
about  it.  He  was  a  decent  old  sort.  May  we  all  be 
as  fit  to  go  as  he  was.  It's  you  I  want  to  talk  about. 
What's  all  this  wonderful  tale  about  you  an*  your 
title  an'  money?  Is  it  true,  Joan?  For  all  I've  heard 
of  it  is — what  I've  seen  in  the  papers." 

"You  would  have  been  the  very  first  to  know, 
Emmie,  if  you'd  been  here,"  said  Joan,  flushing. 
"But  at  the  first  I  was  bound  to  secrecy  about  it, 
and  that  day  when  I  left  the  office  for  good,  I  only 
dared  tell  you " 

' '  Yes,  yes — I  quite  understand  that.  But  let's  hear 
about  it,  Joan." 

She  sat  down,  and,  breathless,  listened  to  the  whole 
story  as  Joan  poured  it  out. 

"It's  a  fairy  tale!"  exclaimed  Emmie.  "It's  like 
what  you  see  in  a  play.  An'  yet,  the  way  you  tell 
it — it  all  sounds  simple  an'  reasonable  enough."  She 
rose  and  stared  at  Joan.  "You,  a  lady  of  title — a 
millionairess — a  swell!"  she  concluded  bitterly. 

"Emmie,  why  do  you  call  me  these  things?"  said 
the  girl  quietly.  "I  am  just  Joan.  That's  all!" 


EMMIE  LOOKS  AHEAD  149 

"That's  it.  Just  Joan.  True  enough!  There'll 
be  one  in  that  push,  anyhow,  that's  clean  and  straight. 
May  they  never  spoil  you,  Joan!  Don't  think  me 
hard  because  I  hate  the  whole  crew  o'  them,  men  an' 
women,  too.  I've  better  cause  than  ever  you'll 
know,  an'  don't  think  I'm  not  glad  for  you,  little 
Joan.  I'm  as  glad  as  it's  my  nature  to  be.  I'd  give 
one  o'  my  hands  to  see  you  happy."  She  stared  at 
Joan.  ' '  But  what  are  you  doin' — stayin'  here  alone?" 

Joan  told  her  of  Lady  Dunluce's  hospitality. 

"Oh,"  said  Emmie  drily.  "Lady  Dunluce,  eh? 
An'  what's  the  next  move,  Joan?" 

"I  don't  know  or  care,"  said  Joan  stepping  for- 
ward and  seizing  her  by  the  hands.  "What  I  want 
of  you  is  this,  Emmie.  The  day  I  come  into  my  own, 
I  want  you  to  come  and  live  with  me  for  always,  and 
be  my  friend — you,  the  only  little  friend  I  ever  had. 
We've  always  shared  alike  when  there  was  little 
enough  to  share.  Now  there's  plenty,  you  must 
stand  by  me." 

"In  other  words,  drop  my  job  and  come  an'  sponge 
on  you,"  retorted  Emmie,  shaking  her  head. 

"Then  come  and  run  Knayth  for  me,  and  the 
London  house,  and  call  it  your  job!"  said  Joan  des- 
perately. "Call  yourself  my  companion,  if  you  like. 
Only  come  and  be  my  friend!" 

"Ah!"  said  Emmie,  standing  back  and  looking  at 
her  curiously.  ' 'An'  the  funny  thing  is,  you  mean  it ! " 

"Of  course  I  mean  it!" 

"Just  so,  it  wouldn't  be  you  if  you  didn't.  You'd 
take  me  in  there,  among  all  your  swells,  an'  never 
be  ashamed  of  me  a  minute.  Me ! ' '  Emmie  extended 


150    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

her  arms,  as  if  to  display  her  squat  figure  and  quaint 
features.  "Well,  it's  no  go,  my  girl.  I'm  not  goin' 
to  queer  your  pitch  like  that.  Besides,  you've  got 
your  life  to  live — an'  I've  got  mine." 

"But  Emmie " 

"Wait!  Now  be  careful  what  you  say,  although 
I'm  not  goin'  to  live  with  you.  I'm  sure  you're  not 
going  to  insult  me  by  offering  me  any  of  your  money, 
Joan.  For  if  you  did  it'd  be  the  absolute  finish  be- 
tween you  an'  me." 

Joan's  hands  dropped  to  her  sides  with  a  gesture 
of  despair. 

"I'd  like  to  shake  you,  Emmie!"  she  said  with 
intense  feeling. 

"You  aren't  big  enough.  Never  mind  all  that  rot 
about  money,  old  gal.  I've  a  stronger  will  than  you 
have.  Besides,  I'm  rich  myself.  I've  had  a  surprise, 
same  as  you.  I'm  down  in  Uncle  Ben's  will  for  £500." 

' '  Emmie !    But  that's  splendid !    I  am  glad,  dear ! " 

"Five  hundred  Jimmy  o'  Goblins."  Emmie  put  a 
handkerchief  to  her  eyes  and  brushed  away  a  small 
tear.  "I  was  fond  of  the  old  chap;  he's  always  been 
very  good  to  me.  But  there  it  is.  After  I've  worn 
this  black  a  bit  me  an'  my  Ted  is  goin'  to  get  married. 
He's  got  a  bit  saved,  too,  an'  we've  got  our  eye  on  a 
shop.  We  shall  make  good  all  right.  I'm  goin'  to 
be  happy  with  my  Ted.  He's  a  Man! " 

Joan  kissed  her  warmly. 

"You'll  both  be  happy,  dear.  The  best  news  yet. 
Emmie,  I  claim  to  be  your  bridesmaid!" 

"We'll  be  pleased,  my  Ted  an'  me,"  said  Emmie, 
grinning,  "to  welcome  Lady  Tallbois  of  Knayth. 


EMMIE  LOOKS  AHEAD  151 

'Weddin'  at  the  Little  Church  Round  the  Corner. 
Reception  in  the  Old  Kent  Road.  Other  papers 
please  copy.'  But  look  here,  Joan — about  you? 
Sure  you've  got  a  certainty?  No  chance  of  your 
bein'  beaten  on  the  post?  When's  the  show  start?" 

"It's  begun  now.  The  case  is  before  the  House  of 
Lords.  It  may  take  a  long  while,  but  they  tell  me 
I  can't  fail."  ' 

"Ah!  An'  who's  got  the  reins?  Who's  runnin'  it 
for  you?" 

"Why,  Mr.  Philip  Mottisfont.    Didn't  you  know?" 

"Him!"  Emmie's  voice  rose  sharply,  and  her  face 
became  grim.  "What,  has  he  got  the  job?  Shoved 
himself  in,  did  he?" 

"He  is  my  Counsel,  Emmie.  It  was  I  who  chose 
him.  He  has  been  splendid — I  owe  him  everything." 

"Mottisfont!"  Emmie's  tone  was  like  a  rasp  of  a 
file  on  metal.  "He's  doin'  it  for  you,  is  he?"  She 
started  up,  and  her  fingers  gripped  Joan's  arm.  "I 
didn't  envy  you  before,  Joan.  But  I  do  now!  I  do 
now!  I'd  give  a  year's  work  to  be  in  your  place 
soon — just  for  one  day!" 

"What  do  you  mean?"  said  Joan,  amazed. 

1 '  Mean ! ' '  snarled  Emmie.  ' '  I  mean  that  he'll  ask 
you  to  marry  him!  Yes,  I'd  give  all  I've  got,  when 
that  happens,  to  be  Lady  Tallbois  of  Knayth.  D'ye 
know  what  my  answer 'd  be?" 

Joan,  rather  pale,  stared  in  amazement. 

"'You  dog!'  I'd  say" — Emmie's  voice  hissed  be- 
tween her  teeth — "  'when  I  was  a  workin'  girl  on  two 
quid  a  week,  you  thought  I  was  dirt  under  foot. 
There'd  ha'  been  no  talk  of  marriage!  You'd  take 


152    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

all  I  had,  an'  give  nothin'.  Now  I've  a  title  an'  a 
million  of  money,  you  come  crawling  at  my  heels. 
That's  my  answer  to  you,  Mister  Main-Chance 
Mottisfont!'  An  I'd  drop  me  hand  across  his  lyin' 
mouth!" 

Emmie  made  a  swift  sweep  with  her  arm,  like  a 
back-handed  blow.  Joan  was  deadly  white. 

"Emmie!"  she  cried  trembling.  "How  dare  you 
say  these  things  to  me " 

"Dare!  I  dare  more  than  that.  Has  he  asked 
you  yet?" 

"No!" 

1 ' No !    He's  waitin'  to  be  sure  you're  a  winner ! " 

Emmie  looked  at  her  friend,  who  stared  back  at 
her  with  pale  cheeks  and  blazing  eyes. 

"I  s'pose,"  said  Emmie  in  an  altered  voice,  "I've 
done  for  myself — with  you.  You  won't  forgive  me. 
But  remember,  if  ever  you  want  a  friend,  come  to  me. 
I  can  right  you." 

Suddenly  she  threw  an  arm  round  Joan's  neck, 
pressed  a  fierce  kiss  on  her  forehead,  and  flung  out 
of  the  room  without  another  word.  Her  footsteps 
were  heard  rapidly  retreating  down  the  staircase. 

Joan  sank  into  a  chair,  and  sat  for  some  time, 
trembling  and  staring  before  her. 

"Is  it  true?"  she  muttered.    "Is  it  true?" 

She  leaned  upon  the  table  and  covered  her  face 
with  her  hands. 


On  the  stroke  of  noon  several  weeks  later,  Joan 
Tallbois  stepped  towards  Lady  Dunluce's  car  that 


EMMIE  LOOKS  AHEAD  153 

was  waiting  before  the  House  of  Lords.  As  she  came 
through  the  entrance  gates,  a  Press  camera  clicked 
suggestively.  There  was  a  stir  among  the  knot  of 
people  assembled.  Another  camera  opened  fire,  and 
yet  another. 

Lady  Dunluce  pressed  Joan's  arm. 

"How  thrilling!"  she  whispered.  "At  last  I  shall 
have  my  portrait  in  the  Mirror.  Front  page,  with 
any  luck.  For  years  I  have  dreamed  of  this.  You 
treasure;  how  can  I  ever  be  thankful  enough  for 
having  met  you!" 

Joan  laughed  merrily.  Her  hostess  was  a  perpetual 
delight  to  her.  Nothing  would  satisfy  Lady  Dunluce 
but  to  be  present  at  the  Inquiry. 

It  was  the  sixth  day  of  the  Tallbois  Peerage  Case, 
yet  this  was  the  first  time  that  Joan  herself  had  been 
required  to  attend  in  person.  The  whole  affair  was 
utterly  unlike  anything  she  expected. 

The  morning  sitting  was  over,  and  Joan  waited 
in  the  car  for  Mottisfont,  whom  she  had  left  in  the 
court-room.  While  she  waited,  a  man  passed  the 
car  and  raised  his  hat  to  her  gravely.  It  was  Vaille. 
Joan  responded  with  an  almost  imperceptible  bow. 
She  had  noticed  him  sitting  silently  in  the  gallery 
of  the  court-house,  throughout  the  case. 

"Who's  that?"  whispered  Lady  Dunluce. 

"An  acquaintance  of  mine,"  said  Joan  quietly. 
And  the  next  moment  her  eyes  lit  up,  for  Philip 
Mottisfont  appeared. 

"All  over  for  today,"  he  said,  entering  the  car. 

"Thank  Heaven!"  exclaimed  Lady  Dunluce. 
"Another  ten  minutes  and  I  should  have  got  up  and 


154    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

screamed,  or  thrown  something  at  the  judges.  Let 
us  have  lunch,  for  goodness'  sake!" 

Joan  and  Philip  laughed.  They  drove  to  a  restau- 
rant near  by.  Lady  Dunluce  drew  off  her  gloves  and 
tossed  them  on  the  table. 

"Philip,  you  are  the  biggest  fraud  in  London," 
she  said. 

"How  so?"  chuckled  Philip. 

' '  Man  alive !  I  came  here  expecting  excitement — 
romance — sensation!  This,  the  famous  Tallbois 
Claimant  Case?  A  Parish  Council  or  a  Sunday- 
School  meeting  would  be  thrilling  compared  with  it." 

"My  dear  lady,"  said  Philip,  "there's  nothing 
duller  than  a  peerage  claim,  for  the  spectators.  You 
see,  luckily  for  Miss  Joan,  there  is  no  rival  claimant. 
All  we  have  to  do  is  to  prove  who  Miss  Joan  is,  and 
who  her  parents  were — and  there  you  are.  It's  a 
tougher  job  than  you  think,  for  any  one  of  a  hundred 
things  could  upset  it.  I  know  there's  a  wonderful 
story  in  it,  but  the  arguments  in  court  are  always 
tedious,  and  all  the  witnesses  have  been  examined. 
It's  a  curious  case,"  he  added  more  seriously,  "and  I 
only  hope,  in  the  future,  we  shan't  find  a  flood  of 
'romance'  in  it  as  would  satisfy  even  Lady  Dunluce. 
But  it  won't  happen  in  the  House  of  Lords'  Commit- 
tee-room." 

"Tell  me  one  thing,  Philip,"  said  Lady  Dunluce, 
peremptorily.  "I  wish  to  know,  with  certainty,  or 
at  any  rate  within  a  day  or  two,  when  Joan's  case 
will  be  settled  and  finished,  one  way  or  the  other. 
Assuming  that  she  wins,  when  will  it  be  made 
known?" 


EMMIE  LOOKS  AHEAD  155 

"Yes,  I  can  tell  you  that,"  he  answered.  "To- 
morrow Joan  herself  will  be  called  to  give  her  own 
evidence,  which  will  not  take  long,  for  only  a  little 
of  it  bears  on  the  case.  Two  days  after  that  will 
wind  up  the  whole  thing.  Judgment  will  be  reserved 
and  the  court's  decision  be  given  out  and  made 
public,  by  next  Friday  at  the  latest.  I  count  on 
that." 

"Good,"  said  Lady  Dunluce.  "My  cards  will  go 
out  today  for  my  biggest  party  of  the  year — it  shall 
be  held  next  Friday !  I  will  have  all  London  there — 
though  it  burst  the  walls  of  my  house.  To  celebrate 
your  victory,  Joan.  We  will  have  the  whole  of  this 
thing  that  calls  itself  Society — to  meet  Lady  Tallbois 
of  Knayth!  So  it  shall  be  on  the  cards." 

Mottisfont  smiled,  but  Joan  looked  aghast. 

"But  if  I  lose?"  she  said,  rather  pale,  as  she 
looked  at  her  hostess.  ' '  What  a  fearful  crash  for  you, 
Lady  Dunluce.  It  will  cost  you  your  position — 
London  will  never  forgive  you.  Think  of  it!" 

"And  think  of  my  triumph  if  you  win,"  replied 
Lady  Dunluce,  her  eyes  shining  proudly.  ' ' '  Behold ! ' 
they  will  say,  'this  extraordinary  old  woman  is  in- 
fallible.' If  it  were  my  life  as  well  as  my  reputation 
I  would  stake  it  on  such  a  throw  as  this.  Have  no 
fear,  Joan,  you  shall  come  into  your  own,  amid  the 
thunder  of  the  captains  and  the  shouting!" 

Joan  sat  back  with  a  somewhat  tremulous  laugh. 
It  was  useless  to  say  more.  She  had  realized  what 
a  hold  the  gambling  spirit  had  over  this  remarkable 
old  lady  and  all  her  set.  It  was  as  though  Joan  were 
a  strong  Derby  favourite. 


156    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

"Well,"  she  said,  with  a  sigh,  "if  I  am  left  at  the 
post,  Lady  Dunluce,  I  shall  have  to  go  back  to  my 
typewriter." 

"You  will  win,"  said  Philip  quietly. 

"We  are  riding  on  a  wave  of  victory,"  said  Lady 
Dunluce,  "and  it's  a  big  triumph  for  you,  Philip, 
this  case.  I  suppose  you  will  'take  silk'  now,  or 
whatever  they  call  it?" 

"Take  silk?  I  took  it  today,"  said  Philip  smiling. 
"After  a  good  deal  of  hesitation,  I  accepted.  I  am 
now  a  K.C." 

"King's  Counsel?  How  splendid!"  said  Joan 
eagerly.  ' '  I  expect  you  might  have  had  it  long  ago. 
Why  on  earth  should  you  hesitate?" 

"Well,  of  course,  it  is  the  road  to  honours-— a  step 
up  the  ladder,"  replied  Mottisfont,  "but,  oddly 
enough,  for  a  young  barrister  with  a  big  practice  it 
often  means  making  a  good  deal  less  money  when 
he  becomes  a  King's  Counsel."  He  paused.  "How- 
ever," added  Mottisfont  quietly,  "money  will  not 
matter  so  much  now.  So  I  accepted." 

"Let  us  go,"  said  Lady  Dunluce,  rising  abruptly, 
' '  I  must  arrange  my  party.  If  we  are  to  congratulate 
you  on  your  silk,  Philip,  we  shall  soon  have  a  much 
warmer  congratulation  to  offer  Joan.  Come  along!" 

They  left  the  restaurant  together. 

Norman  Vaille,  who  had  been  sitting  at  a  corner 
table  watching  the  three  for  some  time  past,  followed 
them  out  with  his  eyes.  He  turned  to  Mr.  Theophil- 
us  Bell,  who  sat  beside  him. 

"Did  you  watch  Mottisfont  with  the  girl?"  said 
Vaille  slowly.  "I  perceive  a  new  haughtiness  in  the 


EMMIE  LOOKS  AHEAD  157 

little  fool's  manner,  now  she  believes  herself  certain 
of  a  great  future.  But  she  is  in  love  with  him,  and 
he  knows  it.  He  will  ask  her  to  marry  him — if  he 
has  not  already  done  so." 

Mr.  Bell  permitted  himself  an  oily  chuckle. 

"Not  he!"  he  replied.  "He  will  postpone  that 
question  till  the  court  has  given  its  decision.  For 
even  Mottisfont  knows  there  is  no  certainty  in  law 
cases.  But  if  he  wins,  there  is  no  doubt  about  her 
answer." 

"And  if  anything  should  go  wrong  with  the  Tall- 
bois  peerage?"  sniggered  Vaille,  "after  she  has  it?" 

Mr.  Bell  permitted  himself  an  unctuous  chuckle. 

"Why  then  Mr.  Mottisfont,  K.C.,  will  back  out 
again  with  the  greatest  skill  and  coolness.  Our 
pathetic  Joan  will  find  herself  doubly  left  in  the  cart." 

Vaille  rose  and  flicked  a  crumb  from  his  sleeve. 

"It  seems,"  he  said  suavely,  "that  Lady  Tallbois 
of  Knayth  is  not  quite  such  a  fortunate  person  as 
the  public  appears  to  believe,  eh,  Bell?" 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE  GREAT  QUESTION 

THE  TALLBOIS  CLAIMANT  WINS 
LADY  TALLBOIS  OF  KNAYTH 
HOUSE  OF  LORDS'  DECISION 

JOAN,  sitting  on  the  long  sofa  in  Lady  Dunluce's 
drawing-room,  let  the  newspaper  slip  from  her 
fingers,  and  gave  herself  up  to  a  whirl  of  mingled 
thoughts.  It  was  a  wonderland  that  had  opened  up 
before  her. 

The  news  had  reached  her  privately,  several  hours 
before,  and  the  paper  with  its  big  headlines  could 
tell  her  nothing  new.  But  the  effect  of  that  triumph 
still  lingered.  The  splendour  of  it  still  dazed  her. 
At  last  doubt,  uncertainty,  and  peril  were  all  swept 
away.  She  was  the  owner  of  millions,  and  a  great 
name.  The  seal  of  the  nation's  highest  court  of 
appeal  was  set  upon  her  heritage. 

The  door  opened  and  Lady  Dunluce  came  in  like 
a  large  and  benevolent  whirlwind.  Her  eyes  were 
shining.  She  seized  Joan  by  the  wrists  and  pulled 
her  to  her  feet. 

' '  Isn't  it  superb ! "  she  cried.  ' '  Welcome,  my  lady 
viscountess!  Welcome,  little  Joan!" 

"It's  glorious!"  gasped  Joan.  "And  I  think  I'm 
more  glad  on  your  account  even  than  on  my  own." 

158 


THE  GREAT  QUESTION  159 

Lady  Dunluce  laughed  happily. 

"What  a  triumph  for  me  now,  though!"  she  said; 
"what  a  reception  there  will  be  for  you  tonight, 
Joan.  And  had  it  failed,  there  would  have  been  not 
one  soul  here.  Right  at  the  eleventh  hour  we  suc- 
ceed. I  love  a  close  thing  like  that.  Upon  my  word, 
though,  Philip  ran  it  fine!" 

"He  said  today  was  the  latest  possible." 

"And  he  was  right,"  laughed  Lady  Dunluce. 
"Who  says  Friday  is  an  unlucky  day  now?" 

"Friday?    So  it  is!" 

"And  the  thirteenth  of  the  month  at  that.  It  must 
be  a  lucky  day  for  your  family,  Joan.  London  will 
remember  it.  Mind,  you've  got  to  be  here  for  my 
guests  tonight.  No  running  away!" 

' '  You  need  not  fear, ' '  laughed  Joan.  ' '  I  shall  stay 
and  face  the  music.  I  am  looking  forward  to  it.  I 
won't  fail  you." 

Lady  Dunluce  looked  at  her  approvingly. 

"You're  a  thoroughbred,  Joan;  Tallbois  blood, 
bone,  and  brain.  You  will  always  hold  your  own. 
From  today  you  take  your  place." 

"Aren't  we  forgetting  Mr.  Mottisfont?  It  is  a 
triumph  for  him  too,  isn't  it?  Where  should  I  have 
been  without  him?" 

"Ah,  Philip.  Yes."  Lady  Dunluce  sat  down  on 
the  sofa  beside  Joan,  and  looked  at  her  anxiously, 
with  a  new  seriousness.  "  Tell  me,  Joan,  do  you  care 
for  Philip?" 

Joan  coloured  very  slightly.  She  looked  at  her 
interrogator,  but  made  no  answer.  Lady  Dunluce 
saw  the  girl  did  not  care  to  reply. 


160    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

"There  are  better  men  than  Philip  Mottisfont, 
Joan,"  said  Lady  Dunluce  quietly.  The  girl  sud- 
denly looked  straight  at  her. 

"Better?  Richer,  you  mean?  Greater  social 
position?" 

"No.  Not  only  that.  I  said  better."  The  old 
lady  paused.  "A  clever  boy,  Philip.  A  brilliant, 
charming  fellow.  A  favourite  of  mine,  but  hard  as 
a  diamond.  And  more  than  that " 

She  rose  and  looked  strangely  at  Joan.  Then 
taking  the  girl's  face  between  her  hands,  kissed  her 
gravely  on  the  forehead. 

' '  Think  well,  Joan, ' '  she  said  very  quietly.  ' '  Think 
twice " 

Lady  Dunluce  turned  without  another  word  and 
left  the  room. 

Joan  rose  and  walked  to  the  window.  At  first  she 
had  felt  indignant,  then  puzzled,  and  now  anxious 
and  uneasy.  She  was  at  a  loss  to  know  what  to  make 
of  it  all.  Then  sitting  in  the  window-seat,  she  rested 
her  chin  on  her  hand  and  communed  with  herself, 
her  heart  beating  fast. 

Would  Philip  ask  her  to  marry  him?  Often  of 
late,  he  had  seemed  strangely  cold  and  formal.  Did 
he  think  there  was  a  barrier  between  them  now — or 
was  there  another  reason?  Joan  had  no  doubt  what 
her  answer  would  be.  She  loved  him  with  her  whole 
heart  and  soul.  A  love  that  would  be  the  more  loyal 
to  Philip  even  if  his  fortunes  were  broken  and  all 
the  world  were  against  him. 

But  his  love  for  her — what  was  it  ?  Would  it  stand 
a  test?  If  he  ever  meant  to  ask  her,  why  had  he  not 


THE  GREAT  QUESTION  161 

done  so  when  her  own  fortune  still  hung  in  the  bal- 
ance? It  would  have  come  far  better  from  him  then. 

Doubts  and  a  chilling  fear  crept  about  her  heart. 
She  remembered  the  strange,  fierce  things  that  Em- 
mie had  said.  And  in  a  moment  a  keen  determination 
came  into  Joan's  mind.  Her  hands  clenched.  If 
ever  Philip  asked  her  to  be  his  wife  there  would  be 
no  easy  reply.  She  would  question  him. 

There  were  many  things  she  had  to  ask  of  him. 
And  she  would  require  his  answer  to  each.  Joan's 
lips  tightened  to  a  firm  line. 

"It  is  my  due!"  she  whispered,  "and  I  will  have 
his  answer  before  I  give  him  mine." 


As  early  as  half-past  nine,  car  after  car  set  down 
its  occupants  in  Charles  Street,  and  already  Lady 
Dunluce's  reception-rooms  were  thronged  with  "the 
people  who  matter."  Soon  the  little  house,  brilliant 
with  lights  and  flowers,  was  packed  to  overflowing. 
Cabinet  Ministers  were  there;  there  was  at  least 
two  ambassadors.  All  London  flocked  to  meet  the 
little  lady  whose  romantic  rise  to  a  great  position 
was  on  every  tongue. 

Joan,  in  a  pale  amber  frock  that  set  off  her  vivid 
beauty  superbly,  was  overwhelmed  with  a  flood  of 
congratulations.  Her  cheeks  were  slightly  flushed, 
there  was  a  charm  in  the  girlish  pleasure  sparkling 
from  her  eyes,  that  won  all  hearts.  Her  loveliness 
amazed  those  who  for  the  first  time  met  her. 

"Lord,  what  a  prize  for  some  lucky  beast!"  mur- 
mured an  immaculate  young  guardsman  enviously 


162    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

to  a  companion.  "An  angel,  a  peeress,  and  a 
millionaire." 

Another  smartly  groomed  young  man,  whom  Joan 
had  already  met  two  or  three  times,  and  who  seemed 
to  go  everywhere,  came  up  and  congratulated  her 
very  charmingly.  He  added  that  he  hoped  she  would 
not  cut  her  humble  former  acquaintances. 

"I  think  not,  Mr.  Drummond,"  said  Joan  smiling. 
"I  wonder  how  many  of  them  would  have  cut  me, 
if  I  had  failed?" 

"Don't  be  cynical,"  said  Drummond;  "it  is  early 
for  that  yet." 

Joan  was  about  to  answer  when  she  caught  sight 
of  another  face  she  knew.  It  was  Hilda  Detchmere, 
magnificent  in  a  gown  of  soft  crimson,  with  a  neck- 
lace of  rubies.  It  astonished  Joan  that  she  should 
be  there  at  all.  Joan  was  not  aware  that  the  Hon. 
Hilda  Detchmere  was  a  cousin  of  Lady  Dunluce's, 
and  for  the  matter  of  that  she  had  come  without 
an  invitation  at  all.  And  at  that  moment,  to  Joan's 
still  greater  surprise,  Hilda  came  right  up  to  the 
girl,  easily  and  confidently. 

"Lady  Tallbois,"  she  said  with  a  smile,  holding 
out  her  hand,  "may  I  add  my  little  felicitations  on 
this  happy  day?" 

Here  was  an  opportunity  for  a  revenge  such  as 
seldom  falls  to  a  woman's  lot.  It  was  amazing  that 
the  girl  laid  herself  open  to  it,  after  the  bitter  inso- 
lence and  sneers  she  had  formerly  bestowed  on  Joan. 
And  yet  Joan  did  not  avail  herself  of  the  chance.  She 
looked  Hilda  Detchmere  straight  in  the  eyes  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  smiled  and  took  the  outstretched  hand. 


THE  GREAT  QUESTION  163 

"Thank  you,  Miss  Detchmere,"  she  said  gently. 

Hilda  Detchmere  replied  with  a  pressure  of  her 
fingers  and  a  few  courteous,  well-chosen  words,  and 
left  Joan  with  a  feeling  of  relief.  She  moved  to  the 
other  end  of  the  room,  and  Drummond  joined  her. 

"Well,"  murmured  Drummond  smiling,  "for  an 
inborn  and  astounding  talent  for  acting,  give  me 
women  in  general,  and  you  in  particular,  Hilda! 
You  hate  that  little  ex-typist  like  poison.  Yet  you 
were  meek  and  sweet  as  honey  to  her,  and  actually 
induced  her  to  be  gracious !  I  expected  her  to  reply 
with  a  public  snub  that  would  have  flattened  you 
out.  What  made  you  risk  it?" 

Hilda  sat  down  on  a  settee  and  made  room  for 
Drummond  beside  her.  She  looked  at  him  through 
half -closed  eyelids  as  she  replied. 

"I  had  my  reasons,  Harold.  It  is  easier  to  get 
home  at  a  person  one  hates,  if  one  keeps  on  good 
terms  with  her.  And  Lady  Tallbois  is  a  power  to 
be  reckoned  with  now.  Besides,  it  is  possible  you 
are  mistaken  about  her." 

Drummond  leaned  forward  and  lowered  his  voice. 

"About  one  thing,  at  least,  I  am  not  mistaken," 
he  said.  "Within  a  week — or  much  less — the  excel- 
lent Mottisfont,  K.C.,  will  ask  her  to  be  his  wife. 
And  he  is  expected  here  tonight." 

A  look  came  into  Hilda  Detchmere's  eyes  that 
startled  even  Drummond. 

"If  this  were  true,"  she  whispered,  "there  is  no 
weapon  that  I  would  not  use  against  that  girl — no 
measure  that  I  would  not  take.  Can  you  prove  it 
tome?" 


164    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

"Assuredly  I  will  prove  it  to  you." 

"We  understand  each  other,  I  think,  without  ex- 
planations," said  Hilda.  "You  said,  a  little  while 
ago,  that  you  could  help  me?" 

"I  can,  and  will — at  a  price.  For,  believe  me,  I 
have  the  power.  Look,  Hilda — here  comes  the  man 
himself." 

Philip  Mottisfont  came  in  by  the  farther  entrance. 
He  was  a  little  pale,  but  even  in  that  brilliant  as- 
sembly there  was  no  man  who  looked  so  distinguished. 
He  caught  Joan's  eye,  and  came  across  to  her  at 
once. 

"At  last!"  she  said,  her  eyes  brightening  as  she 
gave  him  her  hand ;  "  I  was  wondering  why  you  were 
not  here." 

"I  was  busy  to  the  last,"  he  said  simply.  It  was 
Joan's  interests  that  had  kept  him.  At  that  moment 
the  violins  in  the  gallery  struck  into  a  swift,  lilting 
measure.  "Am  I  too  late,  or  will  you  dance  with  me 
— LadyTallbois?" 

"With  my  champion?  Surely!"  said  Joan.  The 
next  moment  she  and  Philip  were  swinging  down  the 
room  in  each  other's  arms,  among  the  first  half- 
dozen  couples  to  start.  Their  steps  suited  perfectly. 
So  striking  was  the  appearance  of  the  pair — the 
vividly  beautiful  girl  in  the  first  flush  of  her  triumph, 
the  strong,  cold  features  of  che  man,  pale  and  show- 
ing the  marks  of  hard  work  and  anxiety — that  many 
people  turned  to  watch.  In  more  than  one  quarter 
there  were  murmurs  of  admiration. 

A  white-haired  peer,  however,  himself  a  man  of 
millions,  leaning  against  the  wall,  looked  at  Philip 


THE  GREAT  QUESTION  165 

as  the  young  barrister  steered  Joan  past  him,  and 
his  brows  knitted. 

"Dashed  fortune-hunter!"  the  elder  man  mut- 
tered. "Will  he  have  the  impudence,  I  wonder? 
He  starts  with  a  pull  in  the  weights." 

Joan,  as  the  music  quickened,  gave  herself  up 
wholly  to  the  delight  of  the  moment.  Philip,  a 
masterly  dancer,  guided  her  where  he  wished.  The 
thrill  of  his  presence,  the  strong,  easy  support  of  his 
arm,  made  her  feel  as  though  she  were  in  dreamland. 

Philip  himself  seemed  cold  and  restrained.  He 
spoke  little.  But  he  became  conscious  that  his  part- 
ner was  flagging  slightly,  as  though  the  excitement  of 
the  evening  had  told  on  her.  He  slowed  and  stopped. 

"Shall  we  rest?"  he  said.  "I  must  not  tire 
you." 

Joan  assented  silently.  Mottisfont  guided  her 
away  from  the  thronged  reception-rooms  and  the 
crowd,  to  a  long  apartment  that  was  curtained  off 
from  the  landing.  It  was  empty,  save  for  two  chairs, 
many  flowers,  and  a  soft  glow  of  electric  bulbs. 

"A  wonderful  evening  for  you,"  said  Philip,  as 
Joan  took  one  of  the  chairs. 

"Yes,"  she  said  softly,  "the  dream  that  came 
true!" 

He  seated  himself,  but  did  not  look  at  her.  There 
was  a  strained  expression  in  his  eyes,  and  his  face 
was  paler  still. 

"Well,"  he  said  quietly,  "our  business  relations 
are  ended.  I  wonder,  shall  we  see  as  much  of  each 
other  in  the  future,  Lady  Tallbois?" 

"How  funny  that  sounds,"  said  Joan. 


166    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

"Are  you  not  used  to  your  new  honours  yet?"  he 
answered,  smiling. 

"I  mean,  from  you,"  said  Joan.  "Somehow  I 
think  I  like  the  old  way  best.  What  do  you  mean  by 
saying  we  shall  see  little  of  each  other?  We  belong, 
I  think,  to  the  same  world  now." 

"It  is  a  world  that  lies  at  your  feet,"  he  answered. 
"But  I — I  am  a  worker,  a  busy  man.  There  is  a 
difference  now,  and  a  great  one.  I  have  neither  the 
leisure  nor  the  power  that  are  at  your  command." 

"I  believe,"  said  Joan  steadily,  "that  we  shall  see 
each  other,  Mr.  Mottisfont,  oftener  than  you  suppose. 
Why  not?" 

"Thank  you.    It  is  good  of  you  to  say  that." 

"I  do  not  understand,"  said  Joan.  She  looked  at 
him,  and  their  eyes  met.  Into  Philip's  came  an 
eager,  burning  light.  His  reserve  fell  from  him  like 
a  mask.  He  caught  her  hands  in  his. 

"Joan!"  he  said,  bending  close  to  her,  "I  do  not 
know  if  I  have  the  right  to  say  this.  God  knows  I 
have  tried  to  keep  it  unsaid.  But  I  love  you,  Joan! 
Dear  little  Joan,  I  love  you  so!  Tell  me,  can  you 
care  for  me?  Will  you  be  my  wife?" 

There  was  a  tense  silence.  Joan  rose  to  her  feet, 
looking  straight  before  her,  her  heart  beating  wildly. 
Gone,  as  though  swept  away  by  a  storm-wind,  were 
all  her  resolutions — every  question  to  which  she 
demanded  an  answer  was  blotted  from  her  mind. 
She  turned  with  a  sob  and  sank  into  Philip's  arms, 
her  soul  upon  the  lips  that  she  raised  to  his. 

"I  love  you,  Philip.  Take  me,  for  there  is  only 
you  in  all  the  world!" 


THE  GREAT  QUESTION  167 

"My  darling!"  He  held  her  to  him,  and  kissed 
her  fiercely.  "Joan,  this  is  more  than  I  dared  to 
hope.  You  love  me,  my  little  Joan?" 

"If  this  had  not  come  to  me,"  she  whispered,  "all 
the  rest  were  less  than  nothing."  She  looked  up 
into  his  eyes.  "  Philip,"  she  said  with  a  sudden  pite- 
ousness,  "you  love  me  truly — with  all  your  heart?" 

"I  love  you  more  than  life,  Joan.  You  and  you 
only,  my  darling." 

He  held  her  strongly  to  him;  their  lips  met  in  a 
long  kiss. 

A  hand  stole  between  the  dark  curtains  at  the  end 
of  the  room,  and  moved  them  very  slightly  apart. 
In  the  gap  was  revealed  dimly  the  profile  of  Drum- 
mond,  on  his  face  a  mocking  smile  as  he  glanced  back 
at  Hilda  Detchmere,  who  stood  behind  him. 

The  curtains  closed  gently,  shutting  out  that  brief 
glimpse  that  had  been  visible  in  the  gap  between 
them.  The  lovers  were  wholly  unconscious  of  it. 
Slowly  Philip  released  Joan,  and  looked  into  her  eyes. 

"I  did  not  think  that  the  world  would  ever  hold 
such  happiness  for  me,"  he  said. 

"Are  you  very  happy,  Philip?"  breathed  Joan. 
"Ah,  I  was  yours,  I  think,  from  the  first  day  I  met 
you.  And  I  thought — I  hoped,"  she  added  shyly, 
"  that  you  loved  me  too.  But  lately,  until  this  hour, 
you  have  seemed  different.  I  was  afraid." 

"I  scarcely  dared,"  he  said  humbly,  "to  ask  you 
the  question  that  meant  everything  to  me.  Almost 
I  had  forced  myself  to  leave  it  unspoken." 

"But  why?" 

"For  fear  of  what  I  might  seem  in  your  eyes.    For 


168    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

the  doubt  that  might  come  to  you — that  I  asked  you 
now,  because  you  have  position  and  wealth,"  said 
Philip.  "Yet  no  such  thought  seems  to  enter  your 
mind.  You  are  too  pure-hearted.  Do  you  not  see, 
Joan,  how  things  are  altered?" 

"I  see  only  that  you  love  me — and  that  I  love 
you,"  she  answered.  "  I  am  still  Joan;  a  few  months 
ago  I  was  a  working  girl.  I  am  no  better  than  I 
was  then — and  I  hope,  no  worse.  All  these  other 
things  that  you  speak  of  are  outside  me — they  are 
not  me  at  all.  But  there  is  one — one  that  matters 
above  all!" 

A  shadow  darkened  the  happiness  in  her  eyes,  and 
gave  place  to  doubt  and  fear. 

" What  is  it,  Joan? "  asked  Philip  quickly.  "What 
is  the  matter?" 

"Answer  me  one  question,  Philip,"  she  said  faintly, 
"one  only.  For  I  am  afraid." 

"Ask  it,  sweetheart.  You  shall  have  nothing  but 
the  truth,"  he  said  quietly.  But  his  eyes  were 
uneasy.  Joan  sank  into  the  chair,  and  he  took  her 
hands  in  his. 

"It  is  not  the  silly  question  that  all  girls  ask, 
according  to  the  books,"  said  Joan  confusedly: 
' ' '  Have  you  ever  loved  any  one  but  me  ? '  I  do  not 
mean  it  for  that." 

"But  it  is  true,  all  the  same!"  said  Philip.  "On 
my  soul,  Joan,  I  never  have." 

"But  has  no  one  a  claim  upon  you?"  she  said, 
looking  him  straight  in  the  eyes.  "Philip,  I  have 
heard — "  she  faltered  slightly,  "that  this  girl,  Hilda 
Detchmere,  was  engaged  to  you,  or  that  it  was 


THE  GREAT  QUESTION  169 

understood."  Joan's  voice  grew  firmer.  "There 
is  only  one  thing  that  should  be  strong  as  love, 
Philip,  and  that  is  honour!  I  am  no  thief,  and  I  will 
never  take  what  should  not  be  mine!" 

Philip  laughed  lightly.  There  was  a  look  of  relief 
on  his  face,  he  pressed  her  hands  tighter,  and  knelt 
by  her. 

"Now  hear  the  truth,  Joan!  I  care  nothing  for 
Hilda  Detchmere.  I  have  never  asked  her  to  be  my 
wife.  I  have  never  made  love  to  her.  But  perhaps 
there  was  once  a  sort  of  understanding,  though  it 
was  never  spoken  of  between  us.  I  will  make  my 
confession,  little  Joan,  and  you  shall  judge  me. 

"Until  I  met  you,  love  had  never  come  into  my 
life.  And  like  the  fool  I  was,  I  thought  it  never 
would.  Oh,  I  was  quite  sure  of  it!  Why,  for  that 
matter  I  believe  still — had  there  been  no  Joan  in 
this  world. 

"I  was  ambitious,  and  meant  to  win  a  high  place 
among  men.  Nothing  but  the  biggest  would  satisfy 
me — I'll  have  it  yet.  And  when  I  thought  about 
marriage  at  all — well,  I  thought  it  likely  enough  that 
I  should  marry.  If  a  man  means  to  rise  high,  a 
wife  is  a  great  help  to  him — if  she,  too,  is  clever  and 
ambitious,  and  belongs  to  the  grand  monde.  Such  a 
woman,  among  others,  is  Hilda  Detchmere.  She  is 
fairly  well  off,  and  so  would  be  no  drain  upon  my 
own  income.  Her  family  has  influence.  Hilda  could 
hold  her  own  with  any  woman  in  London  as  a  hostess. 
She  is,  I  think,  not  sentimental,  and  would  not  expect 
me  to  be.  She  would  rather  I  attended  to  business, 
and  fought  my  way  to  the  top  of  the  tree." 


170    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

"You  mean  she  did  not  care  for  you?"  exclaimed 
Joan. 

"Hilda?  Never,  in  the  sense  you  mean!  She 
cared  for  me  no  more  than  I  for  her.  We  were  good 
friends,  that  is  all.  There  was  never  the  shadow  of 
pretence  of  affection  in  either  of  us.  Hilda  is  incap- 
able of  it — she's  hard  as  marble.  Some  women  are. 
She  thought  of  me  as  a  man  who  meant  to  grasp  the 
biggest  prizes  the  Law  has  to  offer,  and  had  it  in 
him  to  do  it.  Very  likely  she  was  wrong,  and  people 
overrate  me.  But  Hilda  considered  me  as  a  winning 
horse  that  was  going  to  'train  on,'  as  they  say  on  the 
Turf.  Had  I  been  poor,  and  a  dullard,  she  would 
never  have  looked  the  way  I  went.  And  so,  in  a 
sense,  it  became  tacitly  understood.  It  would  have 
been  a  marriage  of  convenience,  on  both  sides." 

Joan  drew  a  long  breath. 

"And  I  thought,"  continued  Philip,  with  a  ring 
of  self -contempt  in  his  voice,  "that  I  could  make  a 
marriage  like  that!  For  a  time  I  actually  believed 
it.  But  even  before  I  knew  you,  Joan,  I  came  to 
realize  it  was  impossible.  Joan,  I  hate  talking  like 
this.  I  can  only  say  these  things  to  you,  dear,  be- 
cause you  have  asked  me,  and  you  have  the  right. 
But  soon  afterwards,  though  I  have  never  loved 
Hilda  Detchmere,  I  came  actively  to  dislike  her. 
Do  you  know  when  that  was?" 

"No.     Why?" 

' '  It  was  on  the  house-boat — and  again  later,  when 
Hilda  was  so  cruelly  and  needlessly  insolent  to  you. 
I  have  little  to  boast  of,  heaven  knows.  But  that 
a  woman  should  publicly  insult  a  girl  because  she 


THE  GREAT  QUESTION  171 

believed  her  to  be  poor,  and  of  humble  life,  filled  me 
with  abhorrence.  Enough  of  that.  I  know  very 
little  of  women.  I've  made  a  clean  breast  of  it,  Joan. 
Do  you  now  think  anything  is  due  from  me  to  Hilda 
Detchmere?" 

Joan's  eyes  flashed. 

"No!"  she  said,  "nothing!  Love  gives  the  only 
claim — love  stands  before  all.  If  you  had  loved  her, 
or  she  you — if  ever  you  had  asked  her  to  be  your 
wife,  and  she  cared  for  you" — Joan  choked — "I 
would  have  given  you  up,  Philip!  It  would  have 
ended  here."  She  rose,  trembling.  "You  love  me, 
Philip — say  again  that  you  love  me!" 


The  immaculate  Mr.  Drummond  conducted  Hilda 
Detchmere  silently  away  from  the  neighbourhood 
of  the  curtained  room  to  a  seat  in  a  quiet  conserva- 
tory. He  judged  she  was  scarcely  in  a  condition  to 
face  the  reception  rooms.  He  gave  her  a  chair,  and 
seated  himself. 

"A  very  charming  tableau,  that,"  he  said.  "Do 
you  mind  if  I  smoke?" 

She  made  no  reply.  Drummond  lit  a  cigarette, 
and  looked  at  her  curiously.  Hilda  Detchmere's 
usually  dark  skin  was  a  dead  white,  and  her  eyes 
were  like  live  coals  as  she  stared  before  her. 

"I  should  judge,"  said  Drummond  thoughtfully, 
"that  if  you  had  had  a  lethal  weapon  in  your  hands 
just  now,  my  dear  Hilda,  there  might  have  been  a 
tragedy  in  that  room." 

"You  are  right!"  she  said  quietly.     "I  was  in 


172    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

the  mood  to  kill.  I  would  have  done  so,  very 
gladly." 

"  One  is  reminded,"  said  Drummond,  "of  the  truth 
of  that  famous  line,  'Love  to  anger  turned.'  Eh, 
Hilda?" 

"Hate  is  more  deep-seated  in  me,  and  far  more 
surely  roused.  I  have  few  secrets  from  you,  Harold. 
I  regarded  Philip  Mottisfont  as  my  property.  I  held 
the  reins  in  my  hands.  The  thing  was  settled,  even 
if  it  was  not  made  public.  It  would  have  suited 
both  of  us;  there  was  no  other  man  I  would  have 
thrown  in  my  lot  with.  What  you  call  love  I  have 
never  felt  for  him — nor  for  any  man." 

"I  wonder,"  reflected  Drummond  to  himself, 
"whether  that  is  true?" 

"When  I  am  robbed  of  anything  that  I  consider 
mine,"  said  Hilda  Detchmere,  "I  never  rest  till  the 
debt  is  paid.  Once  or  twice  such  a  thing  has  hap- 
pened to  me.  But  this  is  quite  a  different  affair. 
This  cuts  at  the  root  of  everything."  Her  voice 
trembled  with  passion.  "I  will  have  this  account 
squared,  at  any  cost  to  me." 

"On  Mottisfont?" 

"No!  That  is  not  my  way.  I  do  not  blame  the 
man.  It  is  the  woman  whom  I  want  to  see  paying 
the  price.  This  little  upstart  from  the  gutter ! "  Her 
fingers  gripped  Drummond  and  dug  into  his  arm. 
"Harold,  there  is  more  in  that  girl's  story  than  has 
been  made  known.  But  I  believe  you  know!  You 
said  you  could  help  me.  I  believe  you  have  the 
power.  Will  you — can  you?" 

Drummond  shook  the  ash  from  his  cigarette. 


THE  GREAT  QUESTION  173 

"I  prefer  to  put  it  like  this,"  he  said,  and  turning 
to  her,  he  lowered  his  voice.  ''I  will  bet  you  two 
thousand  pounds,  Hilda,  that  within  a  very  few 
weeks  Lady  Tallbois  of  Knayth  will  meet  with  a 
disaster  so  thorough  and  so  deadly  that  it  will  satisfy 
even  you." 

Hilda's  eyes  shone. 

"Ah!"  she  said,  "you,  who  know  everything — you 
mean  that  you  can " 

"I  mean  that  I  do  not  intend  to  give  myself 
away.  You  must  ask  me  nothing  more.  I  should 
not  have  said  even  as  much  as  I  have,  but  that  I 
know  you  have  one  virtue,  Hilda,  that  is  rare  in 
women — you  are  entirely  secretive.  Now,  if  you 
prefer  to  refuse  my  bet,  no  harm  is  done.  Nothing 
will  happen.  But  if  you  accept  it — I  shall  win.  It 
is  a  certainty.  And  you  will  pay  the  two  thousand." 

Hilda  Detchmere  nodded. 

"I  understand  you.  And  I  believe  you,"  she  said 
quietly.  "When  it  comes  off — I  will  pay.  You 
know  that  I  keep  my  word." 

She  sprang  up  from  her  chair. 

"Take  me  downstairs.  I  will  go  home,"  she  said 
in  a  stifled  voice,  "for  I  think  that  if  I  came  face  to 
face  with  that  girl  again  I  should  kill  her!" 

Drummond  offered  his  arm. 

"You  would  make  a  big  mistake,"  he  said  softly, 
"for  apart  from  the  natural  penalty  you  would  de- 
prive yourself  of  an  infinitely  more  satisfying  ven- 
geance. To  that  I  pledge  you  my  word." 

He  escorted  his  fascinating  companion  to  the  hall, 
and  saw  her  into  a  taxi.  Under  the  eyes  of  the  foot- 


174   THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

men  she  bade  Drummond  a  civil  good  night.  He 
made  his  way  up  to  Lady  Dunluce's  buffet  and 
thoughtfully  poured  himself  out  a  glass  of  Pommery. 
"Although  an  active  sharing  partner  in  the  firm 
of  Callaghan,  Limited,"  he  murmured,  "I  do  not 
see  why  I  should  not  make  a  small  profit  for  myself 
on  the  side." 


CHAPTER  XVI 
"LEST  AULD  ACQUAINTANCE " 

"  MR.  NORMAN  VAILLE,  m'lady,"  said  the  footman. 

"Show  him  in,"  replied  Joan. 

She  was  sitting  on  the  sofa  in  the  great  morning 
room  of  the  Tallbois  house  in  Grosvenor  Square.  In 
a  few  moments  Mr.  Vaille  appeared,  admirably 
groomed,  and  whatever  he  may  have  felt,  he  looked 
quite  at  his  ease.  He  greeted  Joan  gravely,  and  she, 
with  a  cold  little  bow,  motioned  him  to  a  chair. 

"I  have  sent  for  you,  Mr.  Vaille,  in  order  to  deal 
with  your  claim,"  she  said,  "although  the  cost  of 
the  case  fell  on  me,  and  not  on  you.  I  think  I  should 
point  that  out." 

"It  was  by  your  own  choice,  Lady  Tallbois,"  said 
Vaille  deprecatingly.  "  I  would  have  borne  the  costs. 
But  by  the  terms  under  which  I  forwarded  the  proofs 
to  your  lawyers " 

"I  have  no  wish  to  discuss  that,  nor  whether  I 
am,  under  the  law,  indebted  to  you  at  all,"  inter- 
rupted Joan,  who  was  feeling  a  curious  repulsion  for 
Mr.  Vaille.  "I  am  fulfilling  my  word,  and  the 
undertaking  I  gave."  She  opened  a  drawer,  and 
laid  before  him  a  little  pile  of  crackling  bank-notes. 
"I  prefer  to  deal  in  these,  as  it  is  not  my  wish  to 
draw  a  cheque  in  your  name." 

175 


176   THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

Mr.  Vaille's  slim  fingers  grasped  the  notes;  a  very 
pleasant,  seductive  sensation  they  gave.  He  gave 
no  sign  of  the  triumph  that  consumed  him.  But  on 
counting  the  wad,  he  found  it  contained  only  ten 
thousand  pounds. 

Mr.  Vaille's  eyes  hardened  and  grew  cold.  Was 
she  attempting  to  bargain  with  him? 

"That,"  said  Joan  unconcernedly,  "is  one  third  of 
the  sum  due  to  you.  I  have  not  yet  had  time  to  go 
into  the  Knayth  finances — what  balance  I  have  and 
what  money  I  shall  require — but  I  wished  to  make 
a  payment  on  account  of  the  debt  at  once,  before 
there  is  any  dispute  about  it,  and  formally  admit  the 
claim.  So  I  have  drawn  this  ten  thousand.  I  want 
the  thing  settled  immediately,  and  you  will  receive 
within  four  or  five  days  the  other  twenty  thou- 
sand." 

Vaille  drew  an  inward  breath  of  relief.  He  bowed 
his  assent.  She  asked  for  a  written  acknowledgment 
of  the  money,  and  he  gave  it  her. 

"With  regard  to  the  balance,"  he  said. 

"I  intend  that  it  shall  be  paid  into  your  hands  in 
person,"  she  said  coldly,  "and  you  will  sign  a  deed 
giving  me  a  full  discharge  of  all  liability.  I  am 
leaving  town  shortly,  and  I  wish  you  to  come  to 
Knayth  Abbey,  at  ten  on  the  evening  of  the  23d, 
when  I  will  pay  you  the  balance." 

"As  you  please,  Lady  Tallbois,"  said  Vaille  with- 
out hesitation;  "at  Knayth  on  the  23d,  if  you  wish 
it,  by  all  means." 

He  began  a  florid  little  speech,  suppressing  with 
difficulty  the  elation  that  was  in  him.  But  Joan  cut 


"LEST  AULD  ACQUAINTANCE "    177 

him  short,  and  dismissed  him.  The  footman  who 
showed  Mr.  Vaille  out  looked  at  him  curiously;  he 
had  never  seen  such  a  gleam  of  greed  and  triumph 
in  a  man's  eyes  as  Vaille,  in  an  unguarded  moment, 
permitted  to  appear  there. 

"The  little  fool!"  grinned  Mr.  Vaille  as  he  walked 
down  Grosvenor  Square.  "When  Callaghan  makes 
his  next  move,  what  a  flutter  there  will  be  in  this 
luxurious  dovecot!" 

Joan,  as  soon  as  Mr.  Vaille  was  gone,  promptly 
dismissed  him  from  her  mind.  She  had  long  decided 
that  he  and  the  unctuous  Mr.  Bell,  despite  their 
speciousness,  were  a  particularly  shady  pair.  Yet 
she  was  determined  to  discharge  the  debt  and  be 
done  with  it.  The  sum  she  had  to  part  with  was 
too  big  for  her  fully  to  realize  its  meaning.  What  did 
it  matter — out  of  a  million?  Her  mind  had  no  grasp 
of  money — it  wandered  quickly  back  to  Philip;  her 
champion  from  the  first,  her  wonderful  lover. 

She  was  to  meet  Philip  for  luncheon  at  a  restaurant 
near  the  Law  Courts.  He  was  engaged  in  a  big  case 
there.  Joan  spent  some  time  in  making  herself  look 
particularly  charming,  and  reaching  the  place  at  the 
appointed  hour,  found  Philip  waiting  for  her. 

"Joan!"  he  exclaimed,  "you  are  like  a  breath  from 
a  rose-garden,  after  these  musty  old  courts." 

Joan  laughed,  and  they  had  a  merry  meal  together. 
The  viands  that  the  waiters  brought  got  small  atten- 
tion from  either.  They  talked  of  their  plans  for  the 
golden  future,  and  Joan  of  her  entry,  which  was 
arranged  for  the  next  day,  to  Knayth  Abbey.  She 
said  nothing  of  her  settlement  with  Vaille.  She 


178    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

thought  it  might  worry  Philip,  and  Joan  had  no 
mind  to  let  anything  cloud  their  meeting. 

"Tell  me  what  you  have  been  doing,"  she  said 
just  before  they  left.  "You've  been  leading  in  an- 
other case?  You  won  it,  of  course?" 

"Well,  yes,"  he  said,  smiling,  "as  it  happens  I 
won  it." 

"You  always  do!"  she  said  proudly.  "What  was 
it,  Philip?" 

"Nothing  important,"  he  answered,  toying  with 
the  menu  card.  "A  breach  of  promise  case.  I  had 
rather  a  tough  fight." 

"Ah!"  murmured  Joan,  "and  so  the  girl  was  given 
justice — against  the  man  who  had  broken  his  word." 

"No,"  said  Philip,  smiling,  "it  was  given  against 
her." 

"But  you  said  you  won." 

"I  appeared  for  the  defendant — the  man,"  Philip 
replied. 

"I  see."  Joan's  eyes  looked  slightly  troubled. 
"And  you  said  it  was  a  tough  fight.  Perhaps  if  you 
had  appeared  for  the  girl  then,  or  if  the  man  had  had 
a  less  clever  counsel,  she  would  have  won." 

Philip  laughed. 

"It  is  not  for  me  to  say  that.  You  will  make  me 
conceited,  Joan.  I  won,  let  it  go  at  that.  Why  these 
questions,  dear?  Are  you  pitying  the  girl?" 

"Certainly  I  cannot  imagine  any  woman  setting 
the  loss  of  her  love  in  terms  of  money,"  said  Joan 
slowly,  "and  yet  it  is  hard  not  to  pity  her.  Do  you 
not  feel  that?" 

"Not  in  the  least,"  he  answered.     "You  did  not 


"LEST  AULD  ACQUAINTANCE "    179 

hear  the  case.  There  are  two  sides  to  a  bargain. 
The  girl  did  not,  or  could  not,  fulfil  her  share  of  the 
compact.  I  consider  the  man  was  right.  But,  dear 
heart,  these  are  dry  topics — let  us  talk  of  something 
else.  I  find  I've  nothing  on,  after  all,  before  four, 
when  there  is  a  case  in  chambers.  I  want  to  be  with 
you  every  minute  I  can,  Joan.  You  said  you  would 
like  to  hear  Moisewitch — he  is  playing  at  Queen's. 
There  is  time  for  that;  shall  we  go?" 

Joan  assented  gladly.  They  left  the  place,  and 
walked  along  the  street  to  find  a  cab.  She  glanced 
happily  up  at  Philip's  handsome  face;  it  was  good  to 
know  that  she  would  not  have  to  leave  him  yet.  At 
that  moment  she  became  aware  that  an  oddly 
dressed  man  who  passed  was  staring  at  her  intently. 
She  met  his  eyes,  and  instantly  stopped. 

"Alf!"  she  exclaimed. 

It  was  Alf  Blodmore,  in  chess-board  tweeds  and  a 
scarlet  tie. 

Mottisfont  controlled  his  astonishment  at  this 
unlooked-for  meeting.  Mr.  Alf  Blodmore  had 
stopped  too.  There  was  something  so  pathetic  in  his 
eyes  that  Joan  was  carried  straightway  from  her  new 
life  back  to  the  old  days  of  Lambeth  and  the  office 
and  the  river.  With  a  quick  impulse  she  held  out 
her  hand  frankly  to  Blodmore. 

"It  is  so  long  since  I've  seen  you,  Alf,"  she  said. 
"You  have  heard  my  news?  Have  you  seen  Emmie? 
You  know  that  she  is  going  to  be  married!" 

"Yes  Miss— m'lady,"  stammered  Alf.  "She- 
she's  goin'  to  marry  Ted." 

"I  hope  she  will  be  very  happy.    I'm  going  to  be 


i8o    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

married  too,"  said  Joan.  And  then  she  suddenly 
became  confused.  Hardly  realizing  what  she  was 
doing,  she  made  a  motion  of  her  hand  towards  Philip. 
"Do  you  know  my  fiance,  Alf?  Mr.  Blodmore — 
Mr.  Mottisfont." 

Philip  looked  with  faint  surprise  at  this  curious 
bounder  with  the  baggy  tweeds  and  blood-red  tie. 
But  he  raised  his  hat  courteously.  Alf  s  face,  how- 
ever, became  grey  and  drawn.  He  turned  his  strained 
eyes  upon  Joan. 

"I  wish  you  luck,  m'lady,"  he  said  hoarsely.  And 
shuffling  his  cap  awkwardly  on  his  head,  he  passed 
on  without  another  word.  Joan  and  Philip  went 
silently  on  their  way. 

Alf  Blodmore  walked  eastwards  with  a  blind,  hesi- 
tating step.  Twice  he  bumped  into  passers-by.  He 
halted  at  last,  in  the  mouth  of  a  Fleet  Street  alley- 
way, and  stared  before  him,  his  mouth  working. 

"My  gaw!"  he  muttered  thickly.  "It's  more'n  I 
can  stand!" 

The  swing  doors  of  a  bar  stood  invitingly  close  by. 
Blodmore  thrust  them  apart,  entered,  and  called 
dazedly  for  spirits.  He  gulped  down  a  stiff  glass  as 
though  it  had  been  water  of  the  brook. 

Alf  was  usually  abstemious.  Over-indulgence  was 
not  one  of  his  failings.  He  felt  just  then  as  though 
somebody  had  struck  him  on  the  solar  plexus.  The 
drink  seemed  to  pull  him  together  and  clear  his 
head. 

The  girl  behind  the  bar  looked  doubtfully  at  the 
tall,  thin  youth  with  the  strained  white  face  and 
vacant  eyes  that  stared  at  nothing.  There  was  some- 


"LEST  AULD  ACQUAINTANCE "    181 

thing  wrong  with  him;  she  resolved  privately  that 
she  would  not  serve  him  with  anything  more.  She 
was  not  required  to,  however.  After  a  short  pause, 
Alf  pulled  himself  together  and  left  the  place.  He 
also  left  his  change  on  the  counter.  The  barmaid 
went  after  him,  but  he  had  disappeared. 

Blodmore  clambered  on  to  a  bus,  and  by  rapid 
stages  travelled  north-eastwards  to  Hackney.  He 
did  not,  perhaps,  look  a  romantic  figure,  but  it  would 
have  been  hard  for  any  one  else  to  realize  the  tragedy 
that  had  stunned  him.  Descending  at  last,  he 
tramped  mechanically  along  Billiter  Street,  a  long, 
dingy  thoroughfare,  and  arrived  at  his  home,  a  small 
shop,  over  which  was  the  name  "SAMUEL  TAG- 
GART,"  and  the  legend  "Naturalistic  Emporium." 

The  place  had  the  appearance  of  a  small  and  dis- 
orderly zoo.  It  was  noisy  with  the  song  of  birds; 
numberless  canaries  were  making  shrill  melody;  in 
the  window  guinea-pigs  were  browsing  on  green  stuff, 
and  at  the  door  a  cynical-looking  magpie  without  a 
tail  croaked  at  Alf  thoughtfully.  Inside  were  many 
small  dogs,  a  sleepy  badger  in  a  cage,  birds  of  every 
description,  and  a  litter  of  Persian  kittens. 

There  was  nobody  in  charge  of  the  shop,  but  a 
freckled  small  boy  with  an  intelligent  expression  and 
a  very  red  head,  who  nodded  cheerfully  to  Alf.  The 
latter  walked  straight  through  into  the  little  dark 
parlour  behind  the  shop.  He  closed  the  door  silently. 

A  cock  bullfinch  in  a  cage  by  the  window  turned 
a  bead-bright  eye  on  Alf,  chirruped,  and  began  to 
pipe,  "When  the  Boys  Come  Home  "  with  surprising 
richness  and  volume.  It  was  Alf  who  had  taught 


1 82    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

the  bird  to  pipe.  He  had  a  wonderful  gift  with  all 
small  creatures  in  fur  or  feathers. 

Now,  however,  the  bullfinch's  song  did  not  seem 
to  appeal  to  him.  There  was  still  the  look  of  tragedy 
in  his  eyes.  He  sank  into  a  chair  beside  the  little 
table. 

"Goin'  to  marry  him!"  he  whispered.  "I  know 
him."  His  face  became  suffused  with  dull  red.  "It's 
Mottisfont — the  barrister  chap." 

Alf's  chin  sunk  on  his  breast. 

"I  never  was  her  class.     She's  rich  now.     An* 

•L. »» 

The  bullfinch  suddenly  became  silent. 

"I'd  like  to  have  him  by  the  throat!  I — I  wish  I 
hadn't  seen  'em  together." 

His  voice  broke. 

"Little  Joan— my  little  Joan!" 

Alf  dropped  his  forearm  on  the  table  and  bowed 
his  head  upon  it.  His  shoulders  heaved  and  shook. 
The  bullfinch  began  to  whistle  "Annie  Laurie,"  but 
broke  off  in  the  middle  of  a  bar,  and  ruffled  its 
feathers. 

Presently  a  step  was  heard  in  the  shop,  and  the 
parlour  door  opened  quietly.  A  man  of  about  fifty 
entered,  bullet-headed,  broken-nosed,  his  face  like  a 
hard,  frost-bitten  apple,  seamed  all  over  with  tiny 
wrinkles.  Blodmore  did  not  stir.  He  seemed  un- 
conscious of  the  new-comer,  who  looked  at  him 
thoughtfully  for  some  moments  and  then  laid  a  hand 
on  his  shoulder. 

"What  you  grizzlin'  for,  Alf?"  he  asked  gently. 

Alf  looked  up. 


"LEST  AULD  ACQUAINTANCE 183 

"  Nothin',"  he  said  dully.  "  I  was  a  bit  tired,  that's 
all,  uncle." 

Mr.  Sam  Taggart,  owner  of  the  Naturalistic  Em- 
porium, shook  his  head.  His  deep-set  eyes  peered 
very  kindly  and  thoughtfully  at  Alf. 

"  It  don't  go,  Alf.  I  been  watchin'  you  for  a  good 
while  past.  You've  got  the  hump  uncommon  bad. 
You're  grizzlin'  over  a  gal,  my  lad.  Now,  ain't 
that  it?" 

Alf  nodded. 

"There  was  never  man  or  dog  yet  but  I  couldn't 
tell  what's  wrong  with  'em,"  declared  Mr.  Taggart 
wisely.  "Sprained  tendons,  mange,  distemper,  or 
love — I  know  all  the  symptoms.  Who  is  she  Alf? 
She's  turned  you  down?" 

"I  never  did  stand  any  chance,"  said  Alf  bitterly. 
"Not  an  outside  one  even.  I  saw  her  today,  an'  I'm 
sorry  for  it.  She's  goin'  to  get  married — to  a  toff!" 

"So  that  finishes  it,  eh?  But  how  about  puttin' 
one  across  the  toff?  It's  easy  for  you,  with  a  straight 
left  like  yours.  I've  known  wonders  worked  that  way." 

"I'd  like  nothin'  better!"  said  Alf  between  his 
teeth.  "I've  thought  of  it.  But  no,  it's  no  good. 
Only  make  her  unhappy,  an'  I'll  never  do  that.  All 
the  same " 

"Now  look  here,  Alf,  I  can't  have  you  frettin' 
like  this.  You'll  be  gettin'  relaxed  muscles.  Cut  it 
all  out,  my  lad,  like  a  man.  Finish  it!  Remember 
you've  got  talents  that  mustn't  be  wasted.  I've  got 
the  cure  for  you."  He  tapped  Alf  on  the  shoulder. 
"We'll  have  a  little  instruction.  Go  an'  get  the 
gloves  on,  my  boy." 


1 84    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

Alf  rose  obediently  and  went  up  to  a  wide  bare 
room  on  the  first  floor,  unfurnished  save  for  empty 
bird-cages  round  the  walls.  Alf  stripped  to  the  waist 
and  tightened  his  belt.  He  took  down  a  pair  of  hard 
leather  boxing-gloves  from  a  hook,  drew  them  on, 
and  stood  erect. 

Alf  Blodmore  looked  a  different  being  to  the  young 
man  who  had  slouched  into  the  shop.  In  his  ill- 
fitting  clothes  he  had  a  lanky,  slack  appearance. 
But  now  he  showed  a  head  well  set  on  his  shoulders, 
and  a  surprisingly  white  skin,  with  a  bloom  on  it  like 
silk.  Though  his  limbs  were  slim,  the  muscles  played 
and  rippled  over  his  chest  and  arms  as  he  moved. 

Mr.  Samuel  Taggart,  chief  celebrity  of  Billiter 
Street,  and  ex-champion  middle-weight,  entered  also 
gloved  and  stripped  to  the  buff.  His  shoulders  and 
powerful  bowed  chest  were  knotted  like  the  bole  of 
an  oak.  He  looked  over  his  nephew  approvingly. 

"Good  lad!  Alf,  never  forget  you've  got  a  gift  in 
you,  an'  I'm  goin'  to  bring  it  out.  You're  doin'  me 
credit.  You've  beat  some  of  the  selling-platers  al- 
ready, but  before  I've  done  I'll  have  you  in  the  Ring 
to  meet  the  big  stuff !  Now  come  on,  mind  that  right 
jab  of  yours,  an'  remember  not  to  guard  down!" 

They  faced  each  other  for  a  moment,  both  wary 
as  cats.  Then  Alf  led  with  a  slashing  attack  that 
kept  even  the  trained  old  boxer  busy.  Blodmore 
had  an  excellent  swift  right,  and  his  footwork  was 
wonderful.  There  was  a  power  and  body-weight 
behind  his  punches  that  no  one  would  have  suspected. 
More  than  once  Taggart  yelped  with  delight  and 
appreciation  of  his  pupil. 


"LEST  AULD  ACQUAINTANCE 185 

Rapidly  they  warmed  up  to  their  work ;  the  smack 
and  thud  of  the  gloves  echoed  round  the  bare  walls. 
No  onlooker,  whether  man  or  woman,  could  have 
failed  to  feel  a  respect  for  Alf  then.  He  fought  with 
skill  and  determination ;  he  took  heavy  punishment 
when  it  came,  without  the  least  flinching.  Taggart 
kept  up  a  running  fire  of  encouragement  and  ring-craft. 

"Keep  that  guard  up!  Quicker  swing  with  the 
right,  lad.  A  mighty  poor  punch  for  ten-stone-ten. 
That's  better!" 

Suddenly  it  came  into  Alf's  mind,  like  a  fantasy, 
that  it  was  not  his  uncle  that  faced  him,  but  Philip 
Mottisfont.  He  saw  red.  With  smashing  blows  he 
bored  in,  striking  out  like  a  tiger,  his  teeth  clenched, 
and  a  mist  before  his  eyes.  It  was  all  the  old  boxer 
could  do  to  side-step  him.  For  a  minute  the  fight 
became  a  whirlwind. 

"Steady!"  cried  Taggart  warningly.  "What's 
gettin'  you?  Hold  your  temper  in,  Alf — you  don't 
win  that  way.  See!" 

Alf  went  spinning  back  against  the  wall  from  a 
blow  that  nearly  beat  the  breath  out  of  his  body. 
Taggart  admonished  him  sharply.  He  rallied  again 
and  came  on,  mastering  himself,  and  fighting  coolly 
and  steadily.  Suddenly  there  was  a  whizzing  right 
upper-cut,  and  Taggart  himself  was  laid  full  length 
upon  the  boards. 

He  sprang  up  again,  and  dragging  off  his  glove, 
shook  Alf's  hand  in  a  transport  of  delight. 

"That's  the  stuff,"  he  cried.  "A  chap  that's  got 
a  punch  of  his  own  like  that — why,  he  owes  it  to 
humanity  to  develop  it.  It's  the  Blodmore  speciality. 


186    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

I  gave  you  the  openin' — you  want  to  get  it  a  bit 
quicker,  that's  all.  It's  you  for  Wonderland  next 
week,  an'  I'll  try  you  against  the  Chatham  Chicken. 
Now  what  have  you  got  to  grouse  at,  Alf  ?  You'll 
have  this  little  business  when  I'm  gone,  you're  doin' 
well  a'ready — an'  I'll  make  a  ringsman  of  you." 

"It's  all  I  ask  for,"  said  Alf.    "I  love  the  game." 

"A  grand  old  game  it  is.  Don't  you  feel  better, 
you  young  mug?" 

"I  do.    A  heap,"  said  Alf. 

' '  Course  you  do.  It's  the  sure  cure.  Go  and  sponge 
down  lad,  an'  then  take  the  shop.  I  got  to  go  out." 

Five  minutes  later  Alf  returned  to  the  shop  and 
took  duty.  The  mists  were  swept  from  his  brain,  the 
look  of  pain  had  left  his  eyes.  There  was  still  a  dull 
ache  at  his  heart,  but  he  felt  he  could  face  the  world 
boldly.  The  little  red-headed  boy  was  gone,  and  he 
was  alone  in  the  shop.  He  grew  very  thoughtful, 
and  as  there  was  no  other  company  he  talked  to  the 
cynical-looking  magpie  in  the  wicker  cage,  who 
seemed  to  understand  him  thoroughly. 

Presently  there  was  a  step  at  the  door  and  a  lady 
entered.  Alf  glanced  up. 

It  was  Joan  Tallbois.  There  was  a  hesitating, 
apologetic  look  in  her  eyes.  Blodmore  stared  at  her 
in  utter  astonishment. 

"Alf,"  she  said  pathetically,  flushing  a  little,  "I — I 
hope  I  wasn't  abrupt  when  we  met  this  morning? 
We  are  old  friends.  I  felt  that  I  must  come  down 
here  and  see  you." 

"You — you're  heartily  welcome,"  he  answered. 
"I'm  glad  you've  come — m'lady." 


"LEST  AULD  ACQUAINTANCE "    187 

"Don't  call  me  that!"  she  said  almost  impatiently. 
"Alf,  I  came  because  there  are  things  I  have  to  say. 
I  want  to  ask  you  something " 

She  broke  off  abruptly,  and  glanced  towards  the 
window;  there  was  apprehension,  almost  fear,  in 
them,  and  Alf  saw  it. 

"Is  there  anything  wrong?"  he  asked  quickly. 

"A  man  has  been  watching  and  following  me  all 
the  way — ever  since  I've  been  alone,"  she  said  in  a 
whisper.  "Alf,  I  believe  he  is  near  by  here  now!" 

In  a  moment  Blodmore  was  alert;  his  jaw  stuck 
out  truculently,  and  his  eyes  gleamed. 

"Watchin'  you?  Worryin'  you,  is  he,  Miss  Joan! 
Now  that  is  exactly  the  sort  o'  thing  I  like  to  tackle; 
you  leave  it  to  me.  Who  is  he?  Has  he  spoke  to 
you?" 

"No.  And  I  don't  know  who  he  is,  but  I  am  cer- 
tain of  what  I  say,"  replied  Joan  nervously.  "I've 
seen  him  several  times  since  I  left  the  West  End, 
and  the  last  time  was  only  ten  minutes  ago." 

"What 'she  like?" 

"I  don't  think  I  can  describe  him;  a  man  about 
thirty,  with  a  smooth  face,  wearing  dark  blue  clothes 
and  a  grey  hat." 

Alf  came  round  the  corner  to  the  door  and  looked 
rapidly  up  and  down  the  street.  It  was  almost  de- 
serted except  for  a  few  children,  and  there  was 
nobody  in  sight  answering  to  Joan's  description. 
Alf  asked  her  to  look  for  herself,  and  tell  him  if  she 
could  see  the  man. 

"No,"  she  said,  "I  can  see  nothing  of  him  now. 
Perhaps  the  whole  thing  was  only  my  fancy.  Curious 


1 88    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

things  have  been  happening  lately ;  maybe  my  nerves 
are  out  of  order,  and  I  am  only  being  silly." 

Alf  returned  behind  the  counter,  looking  disap- 
pointed. 

"Was  this  what  you  wanted  to  tell  me  about,  Miss 
Joan?"  he  asked. 

"No.  It  just  happened  on  the  way.  Nevermind 
it.  One  thing  I  have  to  ask  you  is  this.  I  am  unable 
to  find  Emmie.  She  is  not  at  the  Lambeth  rooms, 
and  has  left  the  office ;  she  has  not  answered  a  letter 
I  wrote  her.  We  parted  some  days  ago,"  added  Joan 
hesitating.  "She  was  angry,  I  think,  and  so  was  I. 
I  should  hate  to  believe  there  was  any  bitterness 
between  us.  You  are  sure  to  see  her,  Alf — will  you 
tell  her  that  I  want  to  be  friends?" 

"Of  course  I'll  tell  her." 

"Please  do.  And  you,  Alf,  won't  you  tell  me  what 
you  are  doing  now?  How  are  things  with  you?" 

"Well  enough,"  said  Alf  with  a  wry  smile.  "I'm 
raisin'  pigeons  an'  trainin'  bullfinches  for  the  old 
man — and  he's  trainin'  me.  The  idea  is,  I'm  to  be 
a  boxer.  He  thinks  I've  a  gift  for  it.  I've  fought  a 
small  match  already,  an'  won  it." 

"Did  you?  I  think  I  should  like  to  see  you  box, 
Alf.  I  suppose  it's  a  shocking  confession  to  make. 
There's  a  fighting  strain  in  me  somewhere;  I  can't 
help  it,"  laughed  Joan. 

Alf's  eyes  brightened.  He  felt  that  of  all  things 
he  would  have  liked  Joan  to  see  him  box.  He  was 
conscious  of  being  at  his  best  in  the  Ring. 

"I'm  afraid  I  ain't  likely  to  get  into  the  class  that 
fights  at  Olympia  or  the  Stadium,"  he  said  simply. 


"LEST  AULD  ACQUAINTANCE "    189 

"The  sort  o'  places  in  the  East  End  where  I  puts  on 
the  gloves  would  be  a  bit  too  rough  for  a  lady.  I'm 
tryin'  to  make  good,  though." 

"But  wouldn't  you  like  something  better  than  all 
this?"  urged  Joan.  "You  won't  be  offended,  Alf, 
at  what  I'm  going  to  say  ?  You  know  that  I  have  had 
wonderful  good  fortune — that  I  am  quite  rich,  in 
fact?" 

"Yes,"  said  Alf  slowly.  "I  know  the  whole  story. 
I'm  more  glad  for  your  sake  than  I  can  say.  We 
all  are." 

"But  this  morning  when  we  met  I  felt  that  you 
were  hurt,"  said  Joan  impulsively,  "and  I  was  hurt, 
too,  with  the  fear  that  anybody  could  think  that  I 
was  altered — that  I  could  be  cut  off  from  those  who 
were  my  friends.  I  want  to  keep  them  still.  And 
more  than  that;  you  know  that  I  have  far  more 
wealth  than  I  can  ever  use — enough  for  twenty 
people.  I  am  almost  ashamed  of  it.  Won't  you — " 
she  was  embarrassed  and  spoke  haltingly — "won't 
you  let  me  help  you  along  in  life  ?  I  know  my  friends 
would  have  done  it  for  me.  Won't  you  let  me  give 
you  something  out  of  all  this?" 

Alf  looked  straight  at  her. 

"Yes,"  he  said  quietly,  "you  might  give  me  that 
rose  you're  wearin'." 

Joan  coloured,  and  hesitated.  She  could  scarcely 
have  told  even  herself  why  she  had  come  there;  it 
was  through  some  impulse  of  pity  and  sympathy. 
This  request  was  the  last  she  desired. 

11  It's  the  only  thing  I'll  ever  ask  o'  you,"  said  Alf, 
"but  not  unless  you  please." 


190   THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

Joan  took  the  rose  from  her  bosom  silently  and 
handed  it  to  him.  Alf's  fingers  trembled  a  little  as 
they  closed  on  the  stem. 

"Thank  you,"  he  said  simply.  "An'  now  may  I 
say  a  word  of  my  own?  You  ain't  altered — but  you'll 
have  to.  You  can't  hold  by  the  likes  of  us.  Your 
life  and  ours  lie  a  long  way  apart,  an'  better  for  both 
sides  that  they  should.  Nor  you  can't  give  us 
money,  so  please  don't  offer  it.  As  for  me,  the 
kindest  thing  you  can  do,  Miss  Joan,  is  to  leave  me 
alone,  an*  not  see  me  again." 

Joan  hung  her  head. 

"  I  shall  never  forget  you,"  said  Alf,  "till  I'm  dead. 
I'm  just  glad  you're  goin'  to  be  happy.  If  the 
prayers  of  a  rough  'un  like  me  are  any  good  (which 
I  don't  suppose)  you  have  'em  every  day.  See  now, 
I've  followed  all  that  case  of  yours,  in  the  papers, 
an'  I  know  a  bit  more  about  it,  too.  It's  a  strange 
story,  an'  I've  seen  more  of  life  than  you  have. 
D'ye  know  what  I'm  prayin'?  That  you  won't  have 
trouble  comin'  to  you  through  it  yet." 

"  I  don't  think  so,"  said  Joan.  "  My  troubles  have 
finished.  The  future  is  clear,  and  better  than  ever 
I  deserved." 

"  Lord  send  it  is  so.  I  believe  you.  One  last  thing 
then,  before  we  says  good-bye.  You've  made  me  a 
gift.  Let  me  give  you  one,  Miss  Joan.  Just  a  little 
sooveneer  like,  that  I  value  very  much  an'  would 
be  glad  for  you  to  have.  Will  you  accept  it?" 

"Of  course  I  will!"  said  Joan. 

"Just  a  minute  then." 

Alf  left  the  shop,  and  presently  returned  with  a 


"LEST  AULD  ACQUAINTANCE "    191 

wicker  cage,  in  which  sat  a  superb  grey  homing 
pigeon. 

"This  is  the  sooveneer,"  said  Alf.  "You  might 
give  him  a  nice  roomy  loft,  but  don't  let  him  go." 

"What  a  beauty!"  exclaimed  Joan,  putting  a 
finger  through  the  bars.  The  homer  turned  a  wise, 
round  eye  upon  her  and  crooned  thoughtfully,  as 
though  to  say,  "What  a  charming  little  lady."  Joan 
laughed  aloud.  "What  is  his  name?" 

"Well,"  said  Alf,  "I  call  him  'Jack  Quicksilver.' 
I  bred  him  myself,  an'  he's  taken  three  first  prizes 
for  long  distance  flights.  There  ain't  his  equal  in 
all  Hackney.  He's  for  you." 

"But,  Alf,  what  a  shame  to  take  him  from  you!" 

"I'll  be  only  too  happy  to  know  you've  got  him 
for  a  pet,"  said  Alf  quickly.  "He's  my  partin'  gift, 
Miss  Joan." 

Joan  felt  a  lump  rising  in  her  throat.  It  was 
impossible  to  refuse. 

"Thank  you,  Alf.  It  is  good  of  you.  I'll  always 
care  for  him  myself." 

"Half  a  mo',"  said  Alf.  "  You  see  them  two  little 
rings  on  his  leg?" 

"Yes." 

Alf  leaned  across  the  counter. 

"If  ever  any  trouble  was  to  come  to  you,  or  any 
danger,"  he  said  in  a  lower  voice,  "if  ever  you  thought 
you  could  do  with  any  help,  you've  only  to  slip  a 
little  note  under  them  rings  an'  let  Jack  Quicksilver 
go.  He'd  be  here  quicker  than  the  wind.  Then  you'd 
have  one  friend  left  who'd  give  his  life  for  you  an* 
never  ask  any  reward." 


192    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

Joan  held  out  her  hand  and  bade  Alf  good-bye 
silently.  She  felt  unable  to  speak.  She  left  the  place, 
bearing  with  her  "Jack  Quicksilver,"  who  crooned 
soothingly.  The  parting  was  so  quaint  that  Joan, 
though  her  eyes  were  wet,  suppressed  a  rather  tremu- 
lous little  laugh.  Alf  watched  her  out  of  sight. 

He  retreated  behind  his  counter,  and  for  some 
time  sat  musing.  A  shadow  presently  fell  on  the 
door,  and  a  man  entered.  He  wore  a  blue  serge 
suit  and  grey  hat,  his  face  was  smooth  and  shiny, 
his  eyes  a  trifle  furtive.  Alf's  suspicions  were  im- 
mediately aroused. 

"What  can  I  do  for  you?"  he  asked. 

"A  pennyworth  of  bird  seed,  please,"  replied  the 
man. 

While  it  was  being  wrapped  up  the  purchaser 
leaned  an  elbow  on  the  counter  and  lowered  his 
voice  to  a  confidential  pitch. 

"A  pretty  well-known  customer  that,  who  took 
away  the  pigeon  just  now,  eh?"  he  said. 

Alf  glanced  at  him. 

"Yes,  you're  right,"  replied  Alf  thoughtfully. 

"I  know  a  good  deal  about  you,  too,  Mr.  Alfred 
Blodmore,"  murmured  the  buyer  of  bird  seed  pleas- 
antly. "I  can  do  you  some  good,  and  also  put  a 
little  money  in  your  way.  Are  you  open  for  a  small 
job?" 

"I've  got  one,"  said  Alf . 

His  left  fist  whizzed  out  like  a  projectile;  the  cus- 
tomer, receiving  it  under  the  point  of  the  jaw, 
crashed  back  against  the  boarded  wall  behind  him 
and  fell. 


"LEST  AULD  ACQUAINTANCE "    193 

Alf  vaulted  the  counter  lightly  and  laid  hands  on 
him.  The  stranger  arrived  in  a  heap  on  the  pavement 
outside,  and  his  grey  hat  was  flung  after  him. 

"The  next  time  you  'ang  round  after  that  lady," 
said  Atf  grimly,  "you'll  get  hurt,  my  lad,  instead  of 
bein'  played  with.  Get!" 

The  man  picked  up  his  hat  and  shuffled  away 
down  the  street,  groaning. 

"  I  reckon,"  he  muttered  feelingly,  "  Mister  Drum- 
mond'll  have  to  pay  up  a  bit  extra  for  this  job — or 
do  it  himself." 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  RIFT  IN  THE  LUTE 

"KNAYTH  tomorrow!"  said  Joan  joyously.  "I'm 
having  the  Rolls-Royce  sent  up  here  on  purpose,  and 
a  luggage  car.  All  the  arrangements  are  made,  and 
we'll  drive  straight  down  after  lunch." 

"Joan  you're  like  a  schoolgirl  on  the  first  day  of 
the  holidays,"  said  Lady  Dunluce  approvingly, 
looking  up  from  the  desk  at  wlii^h  she  was  busily 
writing  letters. 

"Well,  it's  just  how  I  feel!"  said  Joan.  "Every- 
thing is  perfectly  heavenly,  but  it  won't  seem  real 
to  me  till  I  go  down  myself  and  take  charge.  And 
it's  charming  of  you  to  take  all  this  trouble;  to  go 
with  me  and  help  me  through  it." 

"Bless  your  little  heart,  I  wouldn't  miss  it  for 
anything,"  said  Lady  Dunluce.  "It's  all  working 
out  beyond  anything  I  ever  hoped  for.  The  missing 
heiress,  beautiful  as  a  rose  washed  with  dew,  enters 
the  halls  of  her  ancestors  in  triumph!"  she  added 
with  intense  relish.  "Bless  you,  Joan,  for  bringing 
Romance  to  me  in  my  old  age.  For  years  I  have 
yawned  my  head  off  waiting  for  it." 

"Yes,  I  believe  you  are  enjoying  yourself  more 
than  I  am,"  laughed  Joan. 

"To  be  sure.  The  only  thing  missing  is  a  villain," 
194 


THE  RIFT  IN  THE  LUTE  195 

sighed  Lady  Dunluce;  "nobody  seems  to  have  been 
cast  for  the  part.  You  haven't  noticed  a  villain  any- 
where about,  Joan?  One  of  the  modern  kind  for 
choice,  good-looking,  with  evening  dress  and  an 
eyeglass." 

"No.  And  I  don't  want  one,"  said  Joan  emphat- 
ically. 

"That  is  selfish  of  you,"  complained  her  hostess. 
"A  good  villain  would  liven  things  up  and  make  me 
really  happy.  But  about  these  people  I  have  invited 
for  your  house-warming  at  Knayth,  Joan.  I  have 
told  you  all  their  names,  but  here  are  one  or  two 
more  we  wilt  send  for.  General  Sinkler?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Joan,  "he  is  charming,  though 
rather  old." 

"We  must  have  him.  He  always  puts  his  foot  in 
it,  and  says  and  does  the  wrong  things.  It  livens 
people  up,  and  you  never  know  what  he  will  say: 
he  is  quite  famous  for  it,  and  if  he  did  not  do  it  he 
would  never  get  asked  anywhere.  The  Ravelins? 
You  like  them,  I  know.  Brother  and  sister — jolly 
young  people.  You'll  make  any  amount  of  friends 
of  your  own  before  long,"  added  Lady  Dunluce, 
"but  while  I'm  playing  a  sort  of  chaperon — beastly 
Victorian  word  that  is — I'm  responsible  for  the  people 
you  know." 

"  You,  who  backed  me  when  I  was  an  outsider,  will 
always  be  the  first  of  my  women  friends,"  said  Joan 
smiling.  "But  I  shall  not  need  a  chaperon  much 
longer,  for  I  shall  chaperon  others." 

"Eh!"  exclaimed  Lady  Dunluce,  cocking  an  eye 
at  her  sharply. 


196    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

"That  ends  the  list  of  guests,  doesn't  it?"  said 
Joan  rather  rapidly.  "  Philip,  by  the  way,  will  come 
down  on  the  following  day;  he  cannot  get  away 
earlier." 

"Philip?"  echoed  Lady  Dunluce,  still  looking  at 
the  girl.  It  was  the  first  time  she  had  heard  Joan 
use  Mottisfont's  Christian  name. 

Joan,  blushing  slightly,  placed  an  appealing  hand 
on  the  old  lady's  arm. 

"Will  you  forgive  me?"  she  pleaded.  "You  who 
befriended  me  from  the  beginning?  I  should  have 
told  you  before,  but  even  now  you  are  the  first  to 
hear  it.  On  the  night  of  your  party  I  was  so  flooded 
with  congratulations  upon  my  victory  and  my  in- 
heritance, that  I  felt  I  must  keep  this  far  greater 
thing  to  myself — if  only  for  a  few  days.  I  did  not 
want  it  to  be  another — another  public  sensation," 
she  said  a  little  piteously,  "on  the  heels  of  the  other. 

It  would  have  seemed  like  sacrilege  to  me.     And 
^^ »» 

"Joan!"  exclaimed  Lady  Dunluce  rising,  "do  you 
mean  to  tell  me ?" 

The  door  opened. 

"Mr.  Mottisfont,"  announced  a  footman. 

"Show  him  up,"  said  Lady  Tallbois. 

Philip  entered,  spruce  and  debonair  as  always. 
He  greeted  his  hostess  warmly,  and  gave  his  hand, 
quite  formally,  to  Joan.  Lady  Dunluce  looked  at 
the  man's  face,  and  at  the  girl's. 

"Joan  was  about  to  take  me  into  her  confidence 
when  you  came  in,"  she  said,  "but  it  is  not  necessary, 
for  now  I  know  all  that  you  can  tell  me." 


THE  RIFT  IN  THE  LUTE  197 

Philip  turned  to  his  hostess. 

"Kindest  of  ladies,"  he  said  smiling,  "till  now  my 
lips  have  been  sealed  by  order.  Joan  has  promised 
to  be  my  wife,  and  I  am  the  happiest  man  in 
England." 

"And  the  luckiest,"  said  Lady  Dunluce. 

"And  the  luckiest,"  repeated  Philip.  "No  one 
knows  it  better  than  I." 

The  old  lady  took  one  of  their  hands  in  each  of 
hers. 

"Bless  you,  my  children,"  she  said.  "You  need 
not  go  down  on  your  knees,  however.  May  you  be 
very,  very  happy." 

She  quitted  the  room  a  little  abruptly,  leaving 
them  together.  There  was  a  slight  shadow  on  Lady 
Dunluce's  face  as  she  went  down  to  the  morning 
room.  Presently  she  saw  Mottisfont  go  out;  he  did 
not  stay  very  long.  Lady  Dunluce  found  Joan 
alone,  pink  of  cheek,  and  radiant.  She  put  an  arm 
round  the  girl's  waist  affectionately. 

"Do  you  love  him  very  much,  Joan?"  she  said 
softly. 

"Love  him!"  said  Joan.  "I  cannot  put  it  into 
words.  I  love  Philip  more  than  life.  Without  him 
my  world  would  be  empty.  People  think  of  me  as 
fortunate,  but  they  do  not  know  why.  In  this  one 
thing  there  is  such  happiness  as  I  never  dreamed  of — 
that  Philip  loves  me!" 

There  was  a  note  in  the  girl's  voice  that  made 
Lady  Dunluce  look  at  her  strangely. 

"I  am  more  glad  than  I  can  say,  that  you  are  so 
happy,  dear.  Though  we  have  known  each  other  so 


198    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

short  a  time,  you  are  very  much  to  me,  Joan.  Yes, 
he  loves  you.  But  did  this  come  to  you  like  a  thun- 
der-clap? You  must  have  loved  him  before  all  these 
wonderful  things  happened?" 

"Oh,  long  before.  Even  when  I  was  a  Temple 
typist,  living  in  a  top-floor  back,  south  of  the  water, 
and  Philip  used  to  come  to  the  office  sometimes  with 
work  for  me.  I  had  no  more  idea  then  of  my  present 
fortune,  than  of  being  Queen  of  England.  Is  that 
romance  enough  for  you?"  said  Joan  smiling. 

"I  am  not  sure  that  it  is,"  said  Lady  Dunluce 
gravely.  "To  me,  romance  means  so  many  things, 
Joan.  And  Philip — he  loved  you  in  those  days?" 

"I — I  thought  so.    Now  I  know  that  he  did." 

"But  he  never  spoke  of  it  to  you?" 

"Of  course  not.  I  scarcely  saw  him  outside  the 
office.  I  did  not  come  to  know  him  well  until  my 
case  began." 

"You  saw  much  more  of  him  then.  And  when 
did  he  ask  you — the  great  question?" 

"On  the  night  of  your  reception." 

"When  your  victory  had  been  made  complete." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  Joan  lifted  her  head 
proudly. 

"I  only  mean  that  Philip  is  a  wonderful  fellow," 
said  Lady  Dunluce  quietly.  "One  would  think  that 
success  was  his  birthright — all  things  that  he  desires 
seem  to  come  to  him,  and  he  always  makes  sure. 
Well,  he  loves  you,  Joan,  and  what  else  matters?  I 
am  an  old  woman,  but  I  know  that  little  matters 
beside  love."  She  kissed  the  girl  quickly.  "Be  very- 
happy,  dear." 


THE  RIFT  IN  THE  LUTE  199 

Joan  went  up  to  her  room.  She  was  more  than 
a  little  angry,  inwardly,  with  Lady  Dunluce.  The 
old  dame's  meaning  was  only  too  plain.  When  Joan 
was  alone  she  became  pensive,  and  her  lip  quivered 
slightly.  The  little  cloud,  no  bigger  than  a  man's 
hand,  in  the  sky  of  her  otherwise  perfect  happiness, 
darkened. 

Philip  loved  her,  yet  she  could  not  but  feel  that 
his  love  was  of  another  quality  than  hers.  There 
was  the  brooding  doubt,  the  ever-recurring  question. 
Would  he  have  asked  her  to  be  his  wife  if  she  had 
remained  obscure  and  penniless?  Daily,  and  always 
in  the  watches  of  the  night,  that  query  came  to 
her  lips. 

And  the  answer  was — no.  Joan  felt  it  so;  no 
reasoning  could  argue  it  away.  She  knew  he  would 
have  done  nothing  of  the  kind.  He  would  have 
stifled  whatever  love  he  felt,  and  gone  on  his  way. 
A  small,  fluttering  sigh  escaped  Joan. 

"What  have  I  to  complain  of?"  she  said.  "This 
miracle  that  I  prayed  for,  the  wealth  and  the  position 
that  would  leave  him  free  to  speak — hasn't  it  come 
to  me?  What  right  had  I  to  expect  that  he  should 
give  up  so  much  for  me?" 

Yet  the  little  pain  and  the  little  doubt  remained. 


The  superb  car  that  had  been  sent  up  from  Clieve- 
mead  stood  at  the  curb  in  Charles  Street.  Joan, 
pink  with  excitement  and  expectation,  came  out  in 
a  fur  motoring-coat  and  veil,  bearing  with  her  a 
wicker  cage. 


200    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

"What  on  earth  have  you  got  there?"  asked  Lady 
Dunluce. 

"It's  a  pigeon — a  great  pet  of  mine,"  said  Joan. 
"I'm  going  to  take  him  to  Knayth." 

Lady  Dunluce  put  up  her  lorgnette  and  inspected 
Jack  Quicksilver. 

"What  an  extraordinarily  confident-looking  bird," 
she  remarked.  "He  seems  pleased  with  himself.  I 
can't  call  him  handsome,  with  those  rings  round  his 
eyes." 

"Handsome  is,  as  handsome  does,"  said  Joan. 
"I've  taken  a  liking  to  him." 

"Well,  I  suppose  the  gentleman  can  ride  in  the  car 
with  us.  I  am  leaving  my  humble  home  behind, 
and  you  are  in  command  now,  Joan,"  said  Lady 
Dunluce,  as  she  disposed  herself  comfortably  and 
drew  a  rug  over  her  knees.  The  cage  travelled  on 
the  seat  opposite ;  the  car  ran  swiftly  down  Charles 
Street.  In  half  an  hour  it  had  left  London  behind, 
and  was  humming  through  the  open  country  towards 
Berkshire. 

The  winding  levels  of  the  river  came  in  view,  and 
after  a  splendid  run  the  car  climbed  the  steep  hill  to 
the  gates  of  the  Abbey.  On  the  old  stone  column  on 
either  hand  stood  the  carved  wyvern  that  was  the 
Tallbois  crest ;  the  same  quaint  monster  that  Captain 
Grier  had  seen  tattooed  in  effigy  on  the  arm  of  Wil- 
liam, that  wanderer  on  the  face  of  the  earth,  last 
male  descendant  of  the  ancient  race. 

The  gates  stood  wide,  the  old  woman  who  kept 
the  lodge  stood  by  and  curtseyed  as  the  car  purred 
between  them  and  followed  the  winding  road  through 


THE  RIFT  IN  THE  LUTE  201 

the  park.  Never  had  the  old  Abbey,  with  its  myriad 
windows  and  ivied  towers,  looked  more  superb  than 
it  did  when  Joan's  car  drew  up  before  the  entrance. 
The  westering  sun  gilded  it  like  a  palace  of  fairyland. 
A  thrill  ran  through  Joan's  veins  as  she  looked  at  it; 
for  some  moments  she  sat  motionless,  feasting  her 
eyes.  An  old  gentleman  with  white  hair  and  a  grave, 
eager  face  hurried  forward  and  opened  the  car  door. 
It  was  Mr.  Deane. 

"Welcome  to  Knayth,  my  lady — welcome!"  he 
said  tremulously. 

"For  the  second  time,"  said  Joan,  as  she  took  his 
hand  in  hers.  "I  shall  never  forget  my  first  and 
kindest  friend  at  Knayth." 

The  old  man  seemed  quite  overcome;  he  could  do 
nothing  but  murmur  eager  words  of  welcome,  with 
some  broken  reference  to  the  Knayth  Goblet.  Joan 
presented  him  to  Lady  Dunluce.  There  was  a  great 
floral  tribute,  beautifully  arranged,  over  the  entrance ; 
a  small  gathering  of  happy,  smiling  servants  were 
in  the  hall,  kept  in  the  background  by  the  awful 
majesty  of  Mr.  Pond,  the  butler,  who  for  once  showed 
signs  of  deep  human  emotion.  Joan  greeted  them  all. 

The  rest  of  the  afternoon  was  pure  wonder  and 
delight.  Joan  explored  the  whole  place,  taking  Lady 
Dunluce  with  her.  That  excellent  dame  knew  con- 
siderably more  about  Knayth  than  its  youthful 
owner,  having  frequently  stayed  there,  and  was  able 
to  satisfy  Joan's  thirst  for  knowledge  about  her 
inheritance. 

Tea  was  set  for  them  on  tables  under  the  shade  of 
trees  in  the  water-garden.  Lady  Dunluce  lay  back 


202    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

in  her  chair  and  listened  to  the  soothing  plash  of  the 
fountains,  with  a  sight  of  content. 

"You  have  a  great  deal  to  give,  Joan,"  she  said, 
"and  the  best  gift  of  all  is — yourself." 

"That  seems  to  me  a  small  thing,"  said  Joan 
dreamily.  "I  am  glad  there  is  something  more." 

They  were  alone  in  the  house  for  the  first  night; 
the  guests  were  not  due  till  the  morrow,  and  Joan 
was  glad  of  it.  A  charming  little  dinner  was  served 
in  the  Long  Room,  and  she  insisted  on  Mr.  Deane 
dining  with  them.  The  old  gentleman  proved  de- 
lightful company.  Lady  Dunluce  was  all  for  having 
down  the  Knayth  Goblet  and  seeing  Joan  solve  its 
secret,  but  the  girl  declined,  laughing. 

"Once  is  enough,"  she  said.  "I  might  fail  and 
disappoint  you.  Then  someone  might  say  I  was  not 
the  rightful  heiress."  The  Goblet  remained  in  its 
cage,  its  gems  shimmering  faintly.  It  was  yet  early 
when  Joan  bade  her  guest  an  affectionate  good  night 
and  went  up  to  her  room.  For  some  time  she  lay 
awake  under  the  silken  coverlet  of  the  great  state 
bed,  looking  up  drowsily  at  the  fretted  ceiling. 

"  It  is  all  more  wonderful  than  the  web  of  a  dream," 
she  whispered.  "Surely — surely  I  shall  be  happy 
here?" 

The  cry  of  the  questing  owls  in  the  park  answered 
her.  Joan  fell  into  a  deep  sleep. 

The  morning  broke  fresh  and  fair,  with  merry 
wind  and  smiling  sun.  After  breakfast  Lady  Dun- 
luce  was  busy  in  consultation  with  Mr.  Deane  over 
the  arrangements  for  the  house-party  and  Joan's 


THE  RIFT  IN  THE  LUTE  203 

coming  guests;  it  was  a  task  after  Lady  Dunluce's 
heart.  Joan  herself  was  glad  enough  to  be  relieved 
of  it  and  took  no  part ;  there  was  only  one  guest  who 
mattered  to  her.  Philip  was  due  that  morning. 
There  was  magic  in  the  thought. 

At  eleven  his  car  drove  up.  Joan  was  waiting  for 
him,  standing  on  the  top  of  the  old  stone  steps,  her 
vivid  beauty  framed  in  the  wide  doorway,  the  carved 
Tallbois  shield  above.  So  striking  a  picture  was  she 
that  Philip  halted,  and  stayed  a  moment  gazing. 
Joan  held  out  her  hands  to  him  with  a  smile. 

"Come,  Philip,"  she  said,  "others  must  wait  to 
be  asked.  You  alone  have  the  right." 

He  took  her  hands;  they  passed  together  across 
the  hall,  where  the  mellow  sunlight  shone  through 
stained  glass  upon  the  grim  suits  of  armour.  They 
found  themselves  in  the  shaded  morning-room,  alone. 

There  was  a  pause.  Philip  looked  into  Joan's 
eyes,  tongue-tied,  almost  in  awe.  She  glanced  at 
him,  laughing  gently,  and  lifted  her  face.  He  caught 
her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her  tenderly.  She  felt 
his  heart  beating. 

"Joan!"  he  whispered,  and  there  was  a  thrill  in 
his  voice  that  was  new  to  her.  "Joan,  my  dear — 
my  dear!" 

Her  lips  answered  him.  For  a  minute  both  were 
silent.  Slowly  Philip  released  her  and  stood  with 
his  hands  lightly  resting  on  her  shoulders. 

"Darling,"  he  said,  "I  am  a  little  afraid  of  you 
this  morning.  How  this  beautiful  place  suits  you — 
and  how  perfectly  you  suit  it.  It  is  as  though  you 
were  a  part  of  Knayth." 


204    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

"Am  I?    I'm  so  glad,  Philip." 

"You  are  like  a  rare  jewel,  torn  from  its  setting 
and  lost,  then  found  and  mounted  in  its  right  place 
by  some  magician  of  a  goldsmith.  You  feel  the 
wonder  of  it?" 

"  I  do.  But  I  was  beginning  to  feel  lonely  already, 
Philip — till  you  came.  I  forgot;  I'm  your  hostess. 
What  would  you  like  to  do,  dearest?" 

"  I  should  like  to  stay  here  all  day — and  kiss  you." 

"But  that's  impossible,"  said  Joan  laughing. 
"They  are  preparing  for  this  tiresome  house-party 
that's  coming;  there  will  be  no  peace  indoors.  Let 
us  go  into  the  sunshine.  You  are  a  horseman,  of 
course,  Philip?  Shall  we  ride  together?" 

"What,  now?" 

"Yes.  It  is  a  whim  of  mine."  Joan  smiled  and 
blushed.  "  I  should  like  to  show  you  your  kingdom, 
Philip." 

"Mine?    Never  mine!    Yours,  Joan." 

"Ours,  then,"  she  answered.  "Will  you  ride  with 
me,  Sir  Knight?" 

"I  will  ride  with  you,  Joan,  to  the  world's  end," 
he  said,  and  kissed  her  again.  Joan  rang  and  ordered 
two  horses  to  be  saddled ;  she  went  to  her  room,  and 
came  down  in  twenty  minutes,  looking  adorable  in 
a  dark  grey  riding-habit.  Philip,  too,  had  changed; 
the  horses  were  ready  saddled  at  the  steps. 

Joan's  was  a  chestnut  mare,  with  admirable 
shoulders  and  a  mouth  like  velvet.  She  patted  the 
mare's  arching  neck  and  spoke  to  it.  Philip  cupped 
his  hand  for  Joan's  little  foot,  and  lifted  her  into  the 
saddle  lightly  as  a  bird.  He  swung  himself  onto 


THE  RIFT  IN  THE  LUTE  205 

his  own  mount,  a  big  raking  bay  hunter.  The 
groom's  eyes  followed  them  approvingly  as  they 
moved  off  down  the  drive. 

"Smart  couple,"  he  said;  "bred  'uns,  both  of  'em." 

The  riders  made  for  the  park,  and  stretched  out 
into  a  hard  canter  across  the  smooth  turf,  up  the 
rising  ground  that  gave  a  view  over  three  counties. 
The  whistling  wind  and  thudding  hoofs  made  the 
blood  tingle  in  Joan's  veins  like  wine.  She  looked 
at  Philip,  and  noted  with  a  thrill  of  pleasure  his 
strong,  graceful  figure  and  perfect  horseman's  seat. 
His  mount  was  fresh  and  twice  attempted  to  bolt; 
he  controlled  it  easily,  with  a  hand  light  but  firm 
as  iron. 

"How  well  you  ride!"  said  Joan 

"  I  was  thinking  the  same  of  you,"  Philip  answered 
admiringly;  "you  look  perfection  on  that  mare, 
Joan,  though  your  style  is  very  different  from  the 
English  hunting  seat.  Where  did  you  learn?" 

"I  have  ridden  almost  since  I  could  walk.  There 
were  plenty  of  ponies  in  the  Calcraft  country.  And 
Uncle  Jim — I  mean  my  father,"  she  said,  flushing 
slightly,  "used  to  ride  with  me  on  those  rare  visits 
of  his.  He  could  ride  anything.  But  the  last  time 
we  were  together  I  could  not  have  been  more  than 
nine  years  old.  I  never  saw  him  after  that." 

The  topic,  so  suddenly  brought  up,  reduced  Philip 
to  silence.  Joan  noticed  it.  She  turned  to  him 
quickly. 

"Philip,"  she  said  gravely,  "there  is  something 
still  that  has  never  been  cleared  up — something  I 
have  hardly  dared  refer  to  till  now.  It  is  the  mys- 


206    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

tery  about  my  father's  life.  You  remember  that 
strange  warning  in  Janet  Mackellar's  letter.  Nothing 
moje  has  come  of  it.  But  I  am  convinced  more 
things  have  come  to  your  knowledge  than  you  have 
told  me,  since  the  case  was  judged.  I  want  you  to 
tell  me  all  you  know." 

Philip  looked  between  his  horse's  ears.  The  sub- 
ject did  not  please  him. 

"  It  is  difficult,  Joan,  for  me  to  speak  to  you  about 
this,"  he  said  seriously.  "It  would  be  best  to  ask 
me  nothing." 

"No!"  she  replied.  "I  am  not  a  child.  I  want 
the  truth!" 

"Well,  if  you  will  have  it,  dear,"  he  said  uncom- 
fortably, "I  must  speak  very  plainly.  You  know 
already  that,  back  there  in  the  States,  your  father 
had  been — in  trouble?" 

"I  have  been  told  so." 

"Yes ;  but  it  is  very  much  graver  than  you  suppose. 
It  seems  that  the  record  of  William  Tallbois  is  now 
fully  known.  The  police  have  connected  him  with 
things  which" — Philip  broke  off  and  hesitated — "I 
will  only  say,  Joan,  that  if  he  were  alive  now,  his 
punishment  would  be  heavy;  that  is,  if  this  story 
is  true.  I  hate  to  say  these  things  to  you;  please 
spare  me." 

"I  asked  you,"  said  Joan,  in  a  low  voice.  "Tell 
me  all." 

"I  cannot,  for  it  has  not  been  told  to  me.  Yet 
the  authorities  know  it;  they  have  the  whole  story, 
and  they  alone.  Don't  let  it  grieve  you,  little  Joan. 
I  have  tried  to  keep  it  from  you." 


THE  RIFT  IN  THE  LUTE  207 

Joan  was  silent.  She  had  insisted  on  the  informa- 
tion. It  could  only  mean  one  thing;  that  no  small 
matter  had  caused  her  father  to  be  hunted  by  the 
Law.  She  guessed,  reading  between  the  lines,  that 
his  very  life  would  have  been  forfeit. 

"Think  only  this,"  said  Philip,  laying  a  hand  on 
her  bridle  rein,  "that  your  father  lived  a  wild  life,  in 
wild  countries,  and  that  he  met  a  brave  man's  end 
at  last.  And  I  can  give  you  this  comfort,  Joan. 
That  story  will  never  be  made  known.  It  is  locked 
away;  a  secret  for  good  and  all." 

"But  it  is  impossible!"  exclaimed  Joan.  "Things 
cannot  be  hushed  up,  officially,  in  this  country?" 

"You  are  mistaken,"  said  Philip  quietly.  "It  can 
be  done,  and  was  done  in  this  case.  I  may  mention 
no  names,  but  one  high  in  authority  made  that  very 
decision.  It  was  said  in  effect:  'William  Tallbois  is 
dead.  Guilty  or  innocent,  he  has  gone  before  a 
higher  Judge.  To  drag  up  this  story  now  will  only 
throw  a  stain  upon  an  honoured  name — a  name  that 
has  always  stood  high  in  England.  Also  it  would 
cause  pain  to  an  innocent  lady,  and  perhaps  cloud 
her  life.  So  the  secret  of  William  Tallbois  shall  re- 
main locked  away.'  That  was  the  decision.  Make 
your  mind  easy,  Joan;  Lady  Tallbois  of  Knayth  has 
nothing  to  fear  from  that  source.  And  no  one  else 
knows." 

Joan  bowed  her  head. 

"The  three  judges  who  tried  your  case  were  made 
aware  of  it.  I  was  consulted.  Had  it  been  necessary 
for  establishing  your  rights,  the  whole  story  would 
have  had  to  come  out.  But  it  was  not  necessary,  and 


208    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

having  been  warned,  I  was  able  to  steer  clear  of  it, 
Joan." 

"I  understand,"  she  said  softly.  "How  good  you 
have  always  been  to  me,  and  how  much  I  owe  you!" 

"I  think  you  know  there  is  nothing  I  would  not 
do  for  you.  Forget  it  then,  Joan,  and  do  not  let 
it  grieve  you." 

"I  have  no  such  feeling,"  said  Joan.  "My  father 
was  my  father,  and  loyalty  is  the  first  of  my  creeds. 
We  need  speak  no  more  of  it.  Shall  we  turn  back 
now,  Philip? "  She  reined  in  her  horse.  "  My  guests 
will  be  arriving  soon,  and  I  suppose  I  ought  to  be 
there." 

Over  the  final  slope  homeward  through  the  park 
Joan  extended  the  mare  to  a  full  gallop.  They  flew 
along  at  racing  speed,  and  when  the  girl  at  last 
slowed  to  a  walk  on  nearing  the  Abbey  her  cheeks 
were  glowing  and  her  eyes  shone  like  stars. 

"That  was  glorious!"  she  cried. 

"Yes,  and  rather  risky,  among  those  rabbit  holes," 
said  Philip.  "You  have  a  splendid  nerve,  Joar. 
Who  is  that  fellow  yonder?  One  of  your  retainers? 
Hardly  that;  he  looks  too  seedy  a  customer." 

Joan  glanced  at  a  remarkably  tall  stranger  who 
was  standing  on  the  path  leading  to  the  stables.  At 
once  she  was  conscious  that  she  had  seen  him  some- 
where before. 

The  man  stepped  forward,  as  if  to  intercept  the 
riders.  It  was  with  a  slight  shock  that  Joan  recog- 
nized him  then  for  the  tall  tramp  to  whom  she  had 
given  sixpence  on  the  day  of  her  first  visit  to  Knayth. 
He  was  clean  shaven  now,  however;  the  neat  grey 


THE  RIFT  IN  THE  LUTE  209 

beard  was  gone,  yet  there  was  no  mistaking  that 
lined  face  with  its  clearly  cut  features,  and  the  deep, 
brooding  eyes.  Joan  reined  in  the  mare  and  halted. 

The  tall  man  took  off  his  hat  respectfully,  and 
stood  before  her  bareheaded. 

"May  I  make  a  request,  my  lady?"  he  said  gently. 

' '  What  is  it  ? "  replied  Joan.  Her  eyes  searched  the 
stranger's  face.  There  was  a  curious  tingling  in  her 
veins. 

"I  am  out  of  a  place,"  said  the  tall  man,  "and  I 
have  hoped  that  your  ladyship  would  give  me  em- 
ployment on  the  staff  of  Knayth." 

There  was  a  pause.  The  man's  attitude  was 
humble,  yet  Joan  was  conscious  of  something  strange- 
ly compelling  about  him.  It  occurred  to  her  vaguely 
that  the  Abbey  was  badly  in  need  of  more  help,  with 
so  many  guests  coming.  Mr.  Deane  had  said  as  much. 

"I  remember  you,"  said  Joan.  ''And  you  are 
seeking  work — here  ? " 

"If  you  please,  my  lady." 

"How?  In  the  gardens — the  stables?  Are  you 
used  to  horses?" 

' '  I  have  had  experience  with  horses.  But  if  there 
is  room  for  me,  I  think,  I  could  give  your  ladyship 
most  satisfaction  as  a  man-servant." 

"A  man-servant !  Do  you  understand  a  footman's 
duties?" 

"I  am  well  acquainted,  your  ladyship,"  said  the 
man  gently,  "with  everything  that  concerns  the 
service  in  a  gentleman's  house." 

It  came  into  Joan's  mind  that  he  would  make  a 
most  impressive  footman. 

14 


210    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

"You  are  somewhat  altered  since  I  last  saw  you," 
she  said.  "You  wore  a  beard,  I  think." 

"I  have  removed  it,  my  lady,  that  I  might  have 
better  hope  of  employment  in  this  capacity." 

"Your  name?" 

"John  Goodenough,  my  lady." 

"It  has  a  dependable  sound,"  said  Joan  smiling. 
"Well,"  she  added  with  a  sudden  impulse,  "I  will 
engage  you.  Go  to  Mr.  Deane,  who  has  charge  of 
everything,  and  tell  him  I  wish  you  to  be  installed 
as  footman.  I  daresay  they  will  find  a  livery  for  you. 
We  are  short-handed." 

"I  thank  your  ladyship,"  said  Goodenough  with 
a  most  respectful  bow,  and  drew  back.  Joan  rode 
on  her  way,  rather  silent  and  pensive.  Philip  urged 
his  horse  alongside.  He  had  listened  to  the  conver- 
sation without  making  any  comment,  and  he  looked 
more  amused  than  surprised. 

"Do  you  think  that  was  wise,  dearest?"  he  said. 

"Wise!"  answered  Joan.  "I  don't  know.  He  is 
the  first  servant  I  have  ever  engaged.  What  has 
wisdom  to  do  with  it?" 

"You  are  the  most  impulsive  darling  I  ever  knew," 
laughed  Philip.  "What  a  way  to  engage  a  footman ! 
You  know  nothing  about  him,  do  you?" 

"Not  much,  certainly.  But  I  think  he  is  honest. 
I  like  his  face." 

"Do  you?'  said  Philip  rather  drily.  "I  should 
say  it  is  the  face  of  a  man  who  has  led  a  peculiarly 
chequered  career." 

"Well,  so  have  I,"  smiled  Joan,  "so  we  ought  to 
suit  each  other." 


THE  RIFT  IN  THE  LUTE  211 

"Where  have  you  seen  him  before?" 

"The  first  day  I  ever  came  to  Knayth,  when  I 
was  a  shilling  tripper.  I  met  him  on  the  road,  and 
he  begged  from  me — though  I  hardly  can  call  it 
begging.  I  gave  him  sixpence.  The  curious  thing 
was  that  he  refused  half-a-crown,  saying  he  did  not 
want  to  rob  me  of  so  much."  She  described  the  rest 
of  the  incident  as  they  rode  into  the  garden. 

"And  that  was  before  you  ever  knew  of  your  in- 
heritance, Joan?"  asked  Philip. 

"Why,  yes.  I  learned  of  it  the  very  next  day,  in 
London." 

Philip  made  no  answer.  He  was  silent  and 
thoughtful  until  they  had  dismounted.  The  horses 
were  taken  by  a  groom,  and  Joan  went  up  to  her 
own  quarters.  She  wondered  why  the  face  of  the 
tall  wayfarer  had  remained  so  persistently  in  her 
mind.  Many  a  time  she  had  thought  of  him  since 
that  first  meeting;  so  much  so  that  it  was  a  slight 
shock  to  see  him  again.  Still  odder  was  it  that  in 
some  way  he  had  made  her  think  again  of  "Uncle 
Jim,"  whose  face,  indeed,  was  no  more  than  the 
dimmest  half -memory  of  her  childhood. 

"I  wonder  if  that  is  why  I  engaged  him? "  thought 
Joan,  smiling.  "If  so,  it  was  absurd  of  me;  there  is 
no  resemblance  really — even  less  than  none,  now 
that  he  has  shaved  his  beard.  I  think  I  liked  him 
better  with  his  beard.  But  I  suppose  footmen  can't 
wear  them." 

Joan  splashed  joyously  in  the  marble  bathroom 
adjoining  her  bed-chamber,  and  changed  into  a 
charming  muslin  frock.  A  little  later  she  came  down 


212    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

to  the  hall,  singing  to  herself;  the  new  man-servant 
had  passed  out  of  her  head.  At  the  foot  of  the  stair- 
case, however,  she  met  Mr.  Deane,  looking  distinctly 
worried. 

"About  this  man  Goodenough,  whom  you  required 
me  to  engage  as  a  footman,  Lady  Tallbois,"  he  said, 
"I  have  done  so,  of  course.  But  do  you  know  much 
about  him — had  he  any  references?" 

"No,"  said  Joan  calmly.  "I  know  nothing  about 
references  and  I  do  not  think  they  are  ever  much  good. 
He  seems  to  me  just  the  man  that  is  needed  here." 

"I  cannot  help  feeling  doubtful  about  it,"  mur- 
mured Mr.  Deane. 

"Why?    Is  he  no  use  at  his  work?" 

"Yes,  as  far  as  that  goes,"  admitted  Deane, 
"he  seems  to  know  his  work  particularly  well,  and 
Pond  is  very  pleased  with  him." 

' '  I  wish  the  man  to  remain.  I  believe  he  will  make 
a  faithful  servant,  and  I  will  be  responsible  for  him." 

"Your  ladyship's  word  is  law,"  said  Mr.  Deane 
with  a  bow,  and  he  retired. 

There  was  an  influx  of  guests  as  the  luncheon 
hour  approached  that  swept  all  other  matters  aside. 
Never  was  there  a  happier  or  more  intensely  inter- 
ested house-party;  the  usual  dullness  of  such  func- 
tions was  wholly  banished.  A  few  people  came  from 
the  surrounding  county,  the  majority  from  town. 
The  Ravelins,  Fords,  and  General  Sinkler  arrived 
early.  A  telephone  message  was  received  from  Har- 
old Drummond,  regretting  that  he  could  not  arrive 
before  ten. 

Joan  made  a  delightful  hostess,  and  without  the 


THE  RIFT  IN  THE  LUTE  213 

faintest  embarrassment.  She  had  to  undergo  a  new 
series  of  congratulations;  her  engagement  to  Philip 
was  actually  announced  in  that  morning's  Post,  and 
added  the  final  touch  to  a  romance  which  appealed 
even  to  the  most  blase.  A  match  between  the  chate- 
laine of  Knayth  and  the  young  barrister  who  had 
championed  her  cause! 

Joan  showed  no  reluctance  to  accept  the  felicita- 
tions now ;  she  accepted  them  gladly  and  with  pride — 
a  pride  in  Philip  which  she  expressed,  with  perfect 
tact,  in  such  a  manner  as  to  give  him  the  first  place. 
One  would  have  thought  that  she  was  the  more 
favoured,  the  luckier  of  the  two.  But  there  was  an 
undercurrent  of  envy  in  the  congratulations  of  the 
younger  men  to  Philip. 

The  afternoon  passed  swiftly  and  merrily  enough. 
Joan  had  the  true  instinct  of  hospitality,  and  made 
no  attempt  to  entertain  or  fuss  over  her  guests. 
There  was  plenty  of  amusement  for  them ;  they  split 
up  into  couples  and  explored,  some  played  tennis, 
others  rode;  there  was  an  eigh teen-hole  course  on 
the  park,  in  perfect  order.  Joan  and  Philip  indulged 
in  none  of  these  things.  They  disappeared  together, 
occupied  with  golden  plans  for  the  future. 

The  evening  drew  in,  and  Philip,  having  changed 
for  dinner,  came  down  twenty  minutes  ahead  of  time. 
As  he  descended  to  the  hall  a  telegram  arrived  for 
him,  and  a  letter.  He  took  both  into  the  empty 
morning  room,  opened  the  wire,  and  stood  for  some 
moments  considering  thoughtfully.  He  seated  him- 
self and  dashed  off  a  brief  note ;  before  it  was  finished 
he  pressed  the  bell.  » 


214    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

Goodenough,  the  new  footman,  appeared.  A  liv- 
ery had  been  found  for  him,  the  Knayth  uniform  of 
dark  green  with  brass  buttons.  It  not  only  fitted 
him  well,  but  set  off  his  grave,  sphinx-like  features 
to  perfection. 

''Bring  me  a  telegram  form,"  said  Philip,  "and," 
he  added,  "a  sherry  and  bitters." 

"Very  good,  sir." 

Goodenough  returned  silently,  placed  the  tray  on 
the  desk  and  waited  for  orders.  Philip  scribbled  a 
telegram,  folded  the  form,  and  stamped  the  letter. 
Then  the  young  barrister  turned  in  his  chair,  and 
looked  judgingly  at  the  footman. 

"It  was  a  somewhat  slight  recommendation  on 
which  Ladv  Tallbois  engaged  you,"  he  remarked. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Goodenough  respectfully. 

"However  it  is  to  be  presumed  that  you  are  an 
honest  man?" 

"Honest  men  are  rare,  sir,"  said  the  tootman 
gravely,  "but  I  trust  that  I  am  one." 

Philip  started  slightly  at  the  phrase.  It  recalled 
to  him  a  curious  memory.  He  looked  at  Good- 
enough's  face,  which  was  as  immovable  as  stone. 

"There  is,  I  assume,  no  reason  to  think  otherwise," 
said  Philip  quietly,  and  took  up  the  glass. 

"Is  there  anything  else  that  I  can  do,  sir?" 

"No,  thank  you." 

Goodenough  bowed,  and  left  the  room.  Mottisfont 
lit  a  cigarette  and,  crossing  the  hall,  entrusted  his 
telegram  and  letter  to  the  butler  for  despatch;  he 
then  joined  the  guests  assembling  in  the  drawing- 
room.  The  gong  sounded  soon  afterwards,  and  Joan 


THE  RIFT  IN  THE  LUTE  215 

took  her  place  as  hostess  to  preside  over  her  first 
dinner-party. 

A  merrier  debut  could  never  have  been  made. 
There  were  fifteen  at  table,  and  Lady  Dunluce  had 
made  her  choice  well ;  they  were  admirably  assorted. 
The  talk  was  bright,  the  dinner  perfect,  the  old  Pom- 
mery  from  the  Knayth  cellars  was  a  dream.  Joan 
herself  did  little  more  than  sip  at  the  frothing  gold 
in  her  glass.  The  happiness  in  her  heart  needed  no 
stimulant. 

It  was  otherwise  with  old  General  Sinkler,  who 
was  silent  at  first,  but  after  his  third  glass  of  cham- 
pagne began  to  blossom  out  like  a  peony,  as  his 
custom  was.  A  famous  coursing  man,  General 
Sinkler  loved  to  talk  about  his  stud  of  greyhounds, 
and  if  he  was  not  stopped  in  time,  the  subject 
was  apt  to  become  rather  too  vivid  for  the  dinner- 
table. 

"I  believe  I've  got  the  winner  of  next  year's  Cup 
in  Snowblossom,"  he  called  across  the  table  to  Philip. 
"She's  a  clinker,  Mottisfont — bred  her  myself. 
Of  course  they  say  a  good  dog  will  always  beat  a 
good  bitch,  but  I'm  taking  precautions " 

"Is  it  true  that  you're  rebuilding  your  kennels, 
General?"  broke  in  Philip  hurriedly. 

The  General  rose  to  this  fly  and  was  headed  off 
for  the  moment.  Lady  Dunluce  chuckled  inwardly. 
The  General  tried  to  get  back  to  Snowblossom,  but 
just  then  young  Lord  Ravelin  rose  to  his  feet. 

"  Have  I  your  permission,  Lady  Tallbois?  "  he  said, 
smiling  at  Joan.  "There  is  just  one  toast  that  we 
must  drink." 


2i6    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

Ravelin  was  that  rare  thing,  a  really  good  speaker. 
In  a  brief  but  very  charming  little  speech  he  coupled 
the  names  of  Joan  and  Philip,  and  expressed  himself 
perfectly.  Upstanding,  the  company  received  the 
toast  with  enthusiasm. 

It  was  so  well  done  that  Joan  flushed  gratefully, 
her  pleasure  was  complete.  Before  she  could  reply, 
General  Sinkler  began  again. 

"Gad,  yes.  It's  delightful  to  see  Knayth  itself 
again,  under  so  charming  a  hostess."  He  made  a 
courtly  little  bow  to  Joan,  and  turning  to  a  neighbour 
beside  him  added,  in  what  was  meant  to  be  an  under- 
tone, but  which  carried  round  the  table  like  a  trum- 
pet: "I  remember  poor  Willie  Tallbois  well,  before 
he  went  out.  Glad  he'd  be  now  if  he  could  know 
that  a  child  of  his  reigned  at  Knayth." 

"Yes?"  murmured  the  neighbour  nervously. 

"A  wonderful  boy  was  Willie — but  a  mad  streak 
in  him,"  continued  the  General.  "Went  to  smash. 
Queer  life  he  must  have  led  abroad.  Wonder  if  we 
shall  ever  know  it  all?  I  met  a  fellow  the  other  day 
who,  since  the  case,  is  certain  now  that  he  met  Tall- 
bois once  under  another  name.  Deuced  strange 
story.  He  told  me " 

A  silence  that  could  have  been  felt  suddenly  de- 
scended upon  the  company.  The  General  stopped. 
Even  he  realized  for  once  that  he  had  made  a  fool 
of  himself.  It  was  the  last  subject  that  should  ever 
have  been  mentioned  at  Knayth.  He  saw  Philip 
looking  uneasy  and  angry. 

"I  beg  pardon,"  murmured  Sinkler  in  confusion. 

«  T »> 


THE  RIFT  IN  THE  LUTE  217 

"Do  not  apologize,  General  Sinkler!"  said  Joan 
in  a  clear  voice. 

The  others  glanced  at  her.  Joan's  chin  was  lifted, 
her  cheeks  coloured,  and  her  eyes  flashed  brightly. 

"  It  seems  there  are  many  strange  stories  about  my 
father,"  said  Joan,  her  gaze  travelling  slowly  round 
the  table.  "They  may  be  true  or  untrue;  I  neither 
know  nor  care.  I  am  his  daughter.  I  wish  that  he 
were  living  now,  that  he  might  take  the  place  here 
that  was  his  by  right !  I  judge  him  by  one  thing  only — 
that  he  was  good  to  me,  and  I  loved  him!" 

"Well  done,  Joan !"  said  the  voice  of  Lady  Dunluce. 

There  was  an  impressive  stir  among  the  company. 
For  a  moment  no  one  spoke,  but  Lord  Ravelin's  eyes, 
slightly  startled,  were  attracted  by  the  tall  footman 
who  stood  behind  Joan's  chair. 

"What's  the  matter  with  that  man?"  murmured 
Ravelin.  "He  is  ill." 

Goodenough,  his  face  deathly  white,  was  swaying 
slightly,  and  his  eyes  were  half  closed.  Mr.  Pond, 
the  butler,  moved  quickly  towards  him  with  an 
anxious  frown;  but  Goodenough  made  the  slightest 
deprecating  gesture  of  his  hand,  recovered  himself 
instantly,  and  stood  to  attention,  motionless  as  a 
statue.  Mr.  Pond  was  relieved. 

"Fill  her  ladyship's  glass,"  whispered  the  butler 
curtly. 

Goodenough  obeyed  like  an  automaton.  The  wine 
creamed  gently  into  Joan's  glass.  There  was  the 
same  flush  on  her  cheek,  the  same  strange  light  of 
defiance  and  command  in  her  eye,  as  she  rose  to  her 
feet. 


218    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

"My  guests,"  said  Joan,  "will  you  stand,  please?" 
The   company   stood   up,    turning   towards   her. 

There  was  the  briefest  pause  as  she  raised  her  glass; 

a  silence  broken  by  Joan's  clear  voice. 
"To  my  father's  memory!" 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  STRONGER  HAND 

BRIGHT  starlight,  a  warm  still  air  and  the  heavy 
scent  of  roses.  The  gardens  of  Knayth  on  a  summer 
night  seemed  nearer  to  Paradise  than  this  imperfect 
earth  can  match.  Down  the  dark  path  beneath  the 
pergolas,  still  roofed  with  late  blossoms,  came  the 
shimmer  of  a  silken  dress,  like  some  pale  spectre  of 
the  Abbey.  It  was  only  Joan  Tallbois  wandering 
alone  and  pensive. 

The  women  of  the  party  had  withdrawn,  leaving 
the  men  at  table — a  prehistoric  custom  that  Lady 
Dunluce  despised,  but  which  somehow  seemed  suited 
to  Knayth.  Joan  had  slipped  away  from  her  guests; 
she  was  in  no  mood  for  chatter;  solitude  and  the 
water-garden  beckoned  to  her. 

The  storm,  which  without  apparent  reason  had 
lately  swept  through  her  spirit,  calmed  down  as 
swiftly  now  in  obedience  to  the  hushed  stillness  that 
compassed  her  about.  Joan  was  intensely  sensitive 
to  surroundings.  Quiet  and  happiness  returned. 
She  stood  still  beside  the  roses,  drinking  in  the  fra- 
grance of  the  night.  A  line  of  wonderful  verse  drifted 
through  her  mind  as  she  heard  the  fountain's  music, 
the  dripping  of  the  ferned  grot — the  veriest  school  of 
peace : 

219 


220    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

"  And  yet  the  fool 
Contends  that  God  is  not — " 

The  words  rose  to  Joan's  lips,  aloud  and  softly: 

"  Not  God!  in  gardens!  when  the  eve  is  cool? 
Nay,  but  I  have  a  sign : 
'Tis  very  sure  God  walks  in  mine." 

A  long  sigh  escaped  her.  The  next  moment  two 
arms  stole  around  Joan  and  held  her  fast. 

"Philip!"  she  murmured,  "how  silently  you  tread. 
Oh,  no,  you  did  not  frighten  me,  dearest.  I  expected 
you,  I  think.  Yes,  I  knew  you  would  come." 

She  lifted  her  face  to  his. 

"And  I  thought  that  I  should  find  you  here.  I 
could  not  sit  with  the  others,"  he  said,  kissing  her 
tenderly.  "And  how  is  my  dear  one  now?  Easier 
in  her  mind  ?  At  peace  again  ?  You  look  more  like 
yourself  now,  Joan." 

"Did  I  shock  everybody?  I  hardly  remember 
what  I  said,"  Joan  murmured.  "People  do  not 
do  such  things,  do  they?  Did  you  think  me  wicked, 
Philip?" 

"I  think  you,  and  shall  always  think  you,  perfectly 
adorable,"  said  Philip  smiling.  "No  doubt  you 
startled  them  a  little.  But  people  expect  surprises 
from  the  Tallbois  family.  Who  would  have  thought 
it  of  you,  Joan?  Why,  you  have  a  fierce  little  will 
of  your  own,  with  all  your  charm.  There  is  courage 
in  you,  and  determination!" 

Joan  felt  she  had  very  little  of  either.  She  looked 
at  him  wistfully. 


THE  STRONGER  HAND  221 

"That  is  not  what  Englishmen  admire  in  women, 
is  it?"  she  said,  "even  if  I  were  so — which  I'm  not." 

Mottisfont  laughed. 

"You  are  thinking  of  the  sweet  Victorian  girl,"  he 
said,  with  a  comic  shudder,  "clinging — fainting — 
sickly;  always  in  a  muddle  of  some  sort,  and  crying 
to  be  pulled  out  of  it.  Thank  heaven  girls  are  not 
like  that  now." 

"You  mean  that  the  woman  is  not  to  be  a  drag  on 
the  man.  That  she  shall  be  his  equal  partner? " 

"Yes.  No!  I  don't  care  what  she  is,  so  that  she 
loves  him."  He  pressed  his  lips  to  hers,  and  held  her 
close. 

"And  I  care  less,"  whispered  Joan.  "You  have 
named  the  only  thing  that  counts,  Philip." 

' '  Then  who  so  rich  as  we  two  ? ' '  He  seated  himself 
on  a  bench  by  the  fountain  and  drew  her  beside  him. 
"Dearest,  my  world  grows  more  wonderful  every 
day." 

Joan's  head  rested  against  his  shoulder. 

' '  Do  you  know  why  I  am  glad  Knay th  is  so  beauti- 
ful, Philip?"  she  said.  "It  is  because  I  can  give  it 
to  you." 

"But  you  cannot,  beloved — and  I  am  glad  of  it. 
You  have  given  me  your  dear  self.  Our  home  may 
be  at  Knayth,  or  wherever  you  will.  But  I  hold  to 
my  path — upward  and  onward,  as  far  as  in  me  lies. 
I've  a  man's  work  to  do;  you  would  not  have  me  an 
idler?" 

' '  How  can  there  be  any  difference,  Philip,  between 
what  is  mine  and  what  is  yours?  I  want  to  help 
you." 


"Then  think,  if  you  will,  that  you  have  helped  me 
by  freeing  me  from  all  care  of  gain  or  profit  of  the 
world's  goods ;  is  not  that  something?  To  you  alone 
I  dare  confess  that  I  aim  very  high ;  whatever  honours 
I  can  win  in  the  world,  I  will  have  them  for  your  sake." 

"Your  love  is  my  greatest  honour,  Philip.  But  I 
will  show  you  that  I  can  help !  And  you — you  have 
lifted  the  only  shadow  that  hung  over  us.  Tell  me, 
do  you  think  I  was  foolish  to  refer  to  it ;  to  say  what 
I  did  just  now  before  them  all ?  I  could  not  help  it." 

"Put  all  that  from  your  mind,  darling,"  said  Philip 
quietly.  "You  are  freed  from  it,  it  means  nothing; 
it  can  never  touch  you  now." 

He  bent  over  her,  murmuring  sweet,  tender  things 
that  made  Joan's  heart  flutter  with  delight.  The 
hush  of  the  night  brooded  over  them  like  a  canopy, 
the  silence  unbroken  till  the  purr  of  a  motor-car  was 
heard,  and  a  distant  headlight  flashed  dimly  in  the 
avenue  across  the  park. 

"I  wonder  whose  car  that  is,"  said  Joan  dreamily. 
And  then  she  caught  her  breath,  and  glanced  at  the 
little  watch  on  her  wrist.  It  was  just  ten  o'clock. 

' '  I  must  go  in,  Philip ! ' '  she  said.  ' '  There  is  some- 
thing I  have  to  do.  Will  you  wait  for  me? " 

Philip  looked  surprised.  Before  he  could  answer, 
she  had  flitted  towards  the  house.  A  car  was  stand- 
ing before  the  main  entrance.  Mr.  Pond,  the  butler, 
was  on  the  steps. 

"A  gentleman  to  see  you,  m'lady,"  he  said.  "I 
showed  him  into  the  gun-room,  according  to  your 
instructions  of  this  afternoon." 

"Quite  right,"  said  Joan.     Instead  of  going  to  the 


THE  STRONGER  HAND  223 

gun-room,  she  made  for  the  staircase,  and  at  that 
moment  John  Goodenough  came  out  of  the  lower 
corridor.  She  was  struck  by  something  strangely 
grim  and  sardonic  in  his  usually  sphinx-like  face. 
Joan  halted. 

"Have  you  settled  down  to  your  duties,  Good- 
enough?"  she  said  pleasantly. 

No  footman  could  have  bowed  more  correctly. 

"I  hope  to  perform  all  my  duties  adequately,  my 
lady.  If  I  may  say  so,  I  would  rather  serve  at 
Knayth  than  at  any  house  in  England." 

"Would  you? "  said  Joan  with  a  flash  of  sympathy. 
"Then  we  agree,  Goodenough.  You  like  your  situ- 
ation already  then?" 

Joan  was  very  far  from  being  above  talking  with 
her  servants.  She  did  so  with  the  utmost  simplicity 
and  freedom  from  embarrassment.  Goodenough 
attracted  her  strangely ;  his  brooding  eyes,  though  far 
from  pleasing  everybody,  were  to  her  remarkably 
compelling. 

"I  am  very  happy  here,"  murmured  the  footman; 
"it  is  a  pleasure  to  attend  your  ladyship." 

His  voice  was  most  respectful.  He  had  a  way  of 
gazing  at  her  with  a  peculiar  intentness,  however, 
which  was  a  little  unusual  in  a  footman. 

"That  is  well,"  she  said.  "I  like  all  people  about 
me  to  be  happy."  She  was  moving  away,  but  turned 
back  again,  and  she  hardly  knew  herself  what 
impelled  her  to  ask  the  next  question. 

"Did  you  happen  to  be  in  the  room,  Goodenough," 
she  said,  "when  my  guests  rose  in  honour  of  the 
memory  of  my  father?" 


224    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

"I  was  serving  your  ladyship  at  the  time." 

"I  thought  so.  Had  things  been  different,  Good- 
enough,  you  might  now  have  been  serving  my  father 
instead  of  me.  I  wish  that  it  were  so. " 

Goodenough  bowed  deeply. 

"I  should  have  endeavoured  to  serve  his  lordship 
with  every  fidelity  to  his  comfort  and  his  interests." 

"I  think  you  would."  Joan  checked  herself,  be- 
coming aware  that  she  was  saying  more  than  was 
necessary. 

She  went  up  to  her  room,  and  taking  a  wallet  from 
a  locked  dressing-case  that  had  come  with  her  from 
London,  Joan  made  for  the  gun-room,  which  con- 
tained no  guns,  but  was  a  comfortably  furnished 
panelled  room  on  the  ground-floor. 

Mr.  Norman  Vaille  was  waiting.  He  bowed 
silently  to  Joan. 

"Have  you  the  original  deed  that  I  signed? "  asked 
Joan  quietly,  "binding  myself  to  pay  you  thirty 
thousand  pounds?" 

Vaille  produced  it.  Joan  scrutinized  the  paper 
carefully.  It  was  undoubtedly  the  original.  She 
laid  bank-notes  of  the  value  of  twenty  thousand 
pounds  on  the  table,  and  handed  Vaille  a  written 
document. 

"I  require  you  to  sign  this  receipt  and  deed,"  she 
said,  "discharging  me  of  all  liability  under  your 
claim." 

Mr.  Vaille  read  the  deed  attentively,  counted  the 
notes,  and  signing  the  deed,  handed  it  to  Joan  with 
a  bow. 

"Perfectly  correct,  Lady  Tallbois,"  he  said.     He 


THE  STRONGER  HAND  225 

packed  the  thick  wad  of  notes  inside  his  pocket-book. 

"This  ends  all  transactions  between  us,  Mr. 
Vaille,"  said  Joan  icily. 

Vaille  did  not  permit  himself  to  smile — he  merely 
bowed  again.  Joan  pressed  the  bell,  and  John  Good- 
enough  appeared. 

"Show  this  gentleman  out,"  said  Joan. 

Vaille  walked  to  the  door.  For  the  first  time  his 
eyes  rested  on  the  footman's  face.  Vaille  checked  in 
his  stride,  and  halted.  His  cheeks  became  bloodless 
as  marble. 

His  back  was  turned  to  Joan,  who  perceived 
nothing  unusual.  The  tall  man-servant,  impassive 
as  a  statue,  looked  straight  before  him  as  he  held 
the  door  open  for  Mr.  Vaille. 

The  visitor  controlled  his  emotion  quickly,  and 
walked  across  the  hall  to  the  entrance.  Goodenough 
followed,  and  silently  opened  the  main  doors  for  him. 
Mr.  Vaille  appeared  to  stumble  a  little  as  he  passed 
out  and  got  into  his  car. 

At  that  moment  Lady  Dunluce  came  into  the  hall, 
and  glancing  through  the  entrance,  saw  the  car  whirr 
away  down  the  drive,  narrowly  escaping  an  overturn 
at  the  corner,  and  vanish  at  surprising  speed. 

"Dear  me!"  she  murmured,  "a  gentleman  in  a 
hurry.  It  has  been  a  remarkable  evening  altogether. 
I  feel  my  skin  prinkling.  Perhaps  it  is  the|weather." 

"There  is  thunder  in  the  air,  m'lady,"  said  the  tall 
footman  as  he  closed  the  doors,  "and  I  think  the 
storm  is  about  to  break." 

Lady  Dunluce  staned. 

"Extraordinary    servants    Joan    engages!"    she 

IS 


226    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

thought.  Lady  Dunluce  failed  to  realize  that  Ro- 
mance stood  at  her  elbow. 

Goodenough  passed  with  sedate  stride  to  the  lobby 
of  the  servants'  quarters.  Once  there  and  alone,  he 
became  galvanized  into  amazingly  rapid  action.  He 
slipped  a  serge  jacket  from  a  peg,  exchanged  it  for 
his  footman's  coat  in  a  twinkling,  and  darted  out  to 
the  service  garage,  which  was  unlocked  but  in  dark- 
ness. It  contained  two  heavy  estate  motors  and  a 
powerful  motor-bicycle,  this  latter  the  property  of 
the  head-gardener.  The  fact  that  the  bicycle  was 
not  his  did  not  deter  Goodenough.  Freeing  the  en- 
gine, he  wheeled  the  machine  out  and  ran  it  swiftly 
along  the  path  through  the  shrubberies. 

When  well  away  from  the  house,  Goodenough 
started  the  engine  and  sprang  into  the  saddle.  The 
machine  flew  forward  with  a  bark  and  a  roar. 
Reaching  the  bend,  he  wheeled  deftly  into  the 
park  road. 

Far  ahead,  already  almost  at  the  gates  of  Knayth, 
the  rear  light  of  the  retreating  motor-car  shone  like  a 
red  spark.  Goodenough  opened  his  throttle,  and  the 
wind  whistled  past  him.  He  threw  up  his  head  and 
laughed  aloud,  a  deep,  belling  laugh  like  the  bay  of  a 
hound.  The  statuesque  expression  that  had  suited 
him  so  admirably  as  a  footman  was  gone.  His  grim 
face  shone  with  the  lust  of  the  hunter. 

The  car  had  turned  to  the  right  at  the  park  gates; 
Goodenough  followed.  The  pace  was  not  much  over 
twenty  miles  an  hour.  When  the  motor-cycle  had 
drawn  up  within  three  hundred  yards  of  the  car,  the 
pursuer  slowed,  and  did  not  attempt  to  go  any  nearer. 


THE  STRONGER  HAND  227 

In  this  order  they  swept  down  the  long  hill  and  away 
over  the  levels  of  the  Thames  Valley. 

The  motorist  took  the  main  eastward  road ;  clearly 
he  was  bound  for  London.  He  increased  speed, 
and  the  cycle  did  the  same,  still  preserving  an  equal 
distance.  A  mile  and  a  half  was  covered  over  the 
deserted  road. 

Vaille,  who  was  driving  alone,  peered  round  the 
hood  and  glanced  back.  Twice  in  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
he  did  this,  for  it  was  curious  to  find  a  lampless 
motor-cycle  steadily  following  him.  He  realized 
quickly  that  Fate  was  at  his  heels.  The  highway 
forked  a  little  way  ahead,  and  here  the  car  suddenly 
forsook  the  London  road  and  switched  up  a  side- turn- 
ing that  led  south.  The  smile  on  Goodenough's  face 
deepened  as  he  did  likewise. 

Once  more  the  man  in  the  car  glanced  back.  A 
piece  of  singularly  reckless  driving  ensued.  The  car 
was  let  out  to  nearly  fifty  miles  an  hour  in  the  narrow 
lane;  the  cycle,  going  its  hardest,  began  to  drop 
behind. 

Goodenough  kicked  open  the  cut-off  of  the  silencer 
and  the  cycle  skimmed  along  with  a  roar  like  a  maxim 
gun.  He  laughed  again,  for  ahead  the  land  rose  to  a 
gradient  of  one  in  eight  where  it  led  up  through  the 
slopes  to  Carfax  Woods.  Vaille  had  made  an  error 
of  judgment. 

The  car  took  the  rise  bravely,  but  was  not  climber 
enough  to  take  it  in  her  stride.  She  had  to  drop  into 
second  speed.  The  cycle  had  her  now  well  in  hand, 
and  was  soon  within  a  yard  or  two  of  her.  There 
was  no  room  to  pass,  and  the  hilltop  was  near. 


228    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

Goodenough  snatched  out  a  small  automatic  pistol, 
and  leaning  forward  at  a  range  of  a  few  feet,  fired 
twice  at  the  right  rear  wheel.  The  pistol  spat  flame, 
the  first  shot  glanced,  the  second  cut  the  tire,  which 
collapsed  straightway.  Three  more  shots  with  a 
steady  hand,  and  the  left  tire  exploded  with  report 
like  a  shell.  The  car  skidded,  lurched  violently,  and 
drove  its  bonnet  into  the  crackling  hedge. 

Goodenough  leaped  from  the  cycle  and  dashed  to 
the  front  of  the  motor;  Vaille,  flung  sideways  by  the 
shock,  gave  a  choking  gasp  at  the  sight  of  his  assail- 
ant and  sprang  up  to  defend  himself.  In  an  instant 
he  was  torn  bodily  out  of  the  car  as  though  he  were  a 
child  rather  than  a  twelve-stone  man.  His  struggles 
were  overborne  by  a  paralysing  grip  on  his  throat; 
he  found  himself  bent  backwards  across  Good- 
enough's  knee,  staring  upwards  at  the  cruel  eyes  that 
glared  into  his.  The  stiffening  went  out  of  him,  and 
his  muscles  relaxed. 

Goodenough,  holding  him  fast,  tore  open  the  over- 
coat and  jacket,  searching  his  pockets  with  a  deft 
hand.  The  packet  of  bank-notes  came  to  light. 
Goodenough  flung  the  man  from  him  across  the  driv- 
ing-wheel, ripped  open  the  packet,  examined  and 
pocketed  it. 

He  glanced  down  with  a  sardonic  smile  at  the  limp 
figure  of  the  motorist. 

"Callaghan  &  Co.  surpass  themselves,"  he  said, 
buttoning  up  his  coat.  "I  begin  to  enter  into  my 
inheritance." 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE  SECOND  COUP 

"Mv  friends,"  said  Mr.  Callaghan,  holding  his 
glass  of  Burgundy  to  the  light,  "one  of  those  in- 
tensely satisfying  moments  approaches,  when  intelli- 
gence and  forethought  ripen  and  bring  their  reward. 
Within  half  an  hour  our  funds  will  be  augmented  by 
a  further  twenty  thousand  pounds." 

"A  generous  welcome  awaits  Vaille,"  said  Mr. 
Bell,  laying  his  hands  reverently  on  a  magnum  of  Clos 
Vougeot  that  lay  in  its  basket  a  little  way  from  the 
fire.  "Let  us  hope  he  will  not  be  long,  for  the  tem- 
perature of  this  admirable  vintage  is  at  present  per- 
fect. His  lateness  makes  me  a  little  uneasy." 

"We  can  rely  on  Vaille,"  said  Mr.  Callaghan, 
"absolutely  and  with  confidence."  He  looked  at  his 
companions,  and  the  silver-rimmed  spectacles  shone 
glassily.  "Is  it  not  a  triumph  to  reflect,  my  friends, 
that  we  can  all,  under  any  circumstances,  rely  on  each 
other?  That  not  one  of  us  can,  or  dares,  fail  his 
companions — for  the  best  of  reasons.  Vaille — but 
that  should  be  his  ring." 

The  bell  sounded  faintly.  Drummond  was  de- 
spatched to  answer  it,  and  in  a  few  moments  Vaille 
entered  the  room. 

Dead  silence  fell  upon  the  company.  Vaille's 
229 


230    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

appearance  horrified  them.  His  face  was  mottled 
and  ghastly,  his  driving  overcoat  torn,  and  marked 
with  mud.  He  looked  dazed,  and  his  lips  moved 
without  uttering  any  intelligible  sound. 

"What  is  this  masquerade,  Vaille?"  said  Cal- 
laghan,  rising  slowly  to  his  feet.  "Where  is  the 
money?" 

"In  Jim  Carey's  hands!"  said  Vaille. 

The  eyes  behind  Mr.  Callaghan's  spectacles  turned 
a  dull  slaty  colour. 

"Carey,"  said  Vaille,  whose  voice  was  hardly  more 
than  a  husky  croak,  "has  installed  himself  at  Knayth 
as  a  footman — in  a  green  coat  and  brass  buttons. 
He  is  wise  to  the  whole  business.  He  followed  me  on 
a  motor-cycle,  shot  up  my  tires,  tore  the  wad  of  notes 
off  me,  and  where  he  is  now  I  cannot  tell  you.  Don't 
look  at  me  like  that,  Chief!  Not  you,  nor  the  whole 
four  of  you,  could  have  done  as  much  to  me!" 

He  threw  back  the  collar  of  his  overcoat ;  the  print 
of  livid  finger-marks  were  about  his  neck. 

"He  is  not  a  man,  he  is  a  devil !  I've  got  his  sign- 
manual  on  my  throat.  He'd  have  killed  me  then  and 
there,  like  a  dog,  only  that  there  were  witnesses  who 
had  seen  him  pass  on  the  roads — he'll  do  it  yet.  I 
don't  know  how  I  got  back  to  town;  I've  been  at  my 
rooms  nearly  an  hour.  He  just  tore  the  stuff  off  me, 
and  then  threw  me  away  like  a  burnt  match." 

Vaille  collapsed  into  a  chair. 

"We  have  lost  a  fortune  at  his  hands." 

"A  fortune!"  stammered  Mr.  Bell,  moving  for- 
ward, "heavens  and  earth,  man,  do  you  not  see  that 
the  loss  of  the  money  is  the  least  part  of  this  dis- 


THE  SECOND  COUP  231 

aster? "  He  looked  round  at  his  companions,  and  his 
dismay  reflected  itself  in  their  faces.  "That  venge- 
ful devil  Carey  is  now  master  of  twenty  thousand 
pounds!" 

Drummond  nodded  moodily,  and  glanced  at 
Callaghan. 

"Confess,  Chief,"  he  said  quietly,  "he  has  beaten 
you." 

"Has  he?"  replied  Callaghan  with  concentrated 
fury.  ' '  I  will  show  you  that.  I  will  show  you  which 
of  us  two  is  the  master." 

The  little  alarm-bell  on  the  wall  buzzed  sug- 
gestively. The  four  rose  to  their  feet.  But  before 
Mr.  Callaghan  could  move  to  investigate,  the  outer 
door  in  the  passage  was  heard  to  open.  The  next 
moment  there  was  a  violent  shock  upon  the  door  of 
the  room  itself,  as  though  some  powerful  body  had 
struck  it ;  the  heavy  lock  burst,  and  the  door  swung 
sharply  inwards. 

"The  police,"  muttered  Vaille,  with  a  catch  in  his 
breath.  Mr.  Vaille  was  in  error. 

In  through  the  doorway  walked  John  Goodenough, 
the  footman,  cool,  unruffled,  with  a  faint,  enquiring 
smile. 

Quicker  than  light  Callaghan's  revolver  was  out 
and  covered  him.  Vaille  was  hardly  the  fraction  of 
a  second  slower.  The  two  weapons  con  verged,  un- 
falteringly upon  the  man,  who  was  apparently 
unarmed.  Bell  darted  behind,  swung  the  door  to, 
and  set  his  back  against  it. 

There  was  a  moment's  stupefied  silence. 

"Jim  Carey!"  gasped  Drummond. 


232    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

The  visitor's  eyebrows  raised  themselves  slightly. 

"Pardon  me,"  he  corrected,  "Lord  Tallbois  of 
Knayth." 

It  was  some  moments  before  any  one  replied. 
With  the  exception  of  the  newcomer,  Mr.  Callaghan 
was  the  most  unmoved  of  the  five.  The  wrath  and 
bitterness  he  had  shown  previously  were  now  entirely 
gone. 

He  had  dropped  into  a  chair,  on  the  back  of  which 
his  pistol  hand  rested  with  an  unfaltering  aim  at  his 
guest.  One  white  finger  hung  lovingly  on  the 
trigger;  the  eyes  that  gleamed  behind  his  spectacles 
showed  an  intense,  epicurean  satisfaction. 

"Do  you  insist  on  that  title? "  he  asked  suavely. 

The  mockery  that  lurked  about  the  intruder's  lips 
deepened  a  little. 

"No,"  he  said,  "it  was  merely  a  reminder  of  the 
situation.  I  seemed  to  detect  an  undue  familiarity 
in  your  henchman's  form  of  address.  To  you,  how- 
ever, I  am  still  James  Carey — omitting  the  bourgeois 
prefix." 

"In  a  few  moments,"  said  Mr.  Callaghan  smoothly, 
"you  will  be  the  late  James  Carey.  That  I  promise 
you  most  faithfully." 

"I  think  not,"  said  Carey.  "However,  it  is  pre- 
cisely to  test  that  matter  that  I  am  here.  There  is 
just  a  chance  that  you  are  right." 

"It  is  an  absolute  certainty.  Whatever  your 
motive  in  coming  to  this  house,  you  will  not  leave  it 
alive.  It  is  the  opportunity  we  desired,  and  we  are 
prepared  for  it." 

"It  would  seem  so,"  said  Carey  easily.     "The 


THE  SECOND  COUP  233 

trifling  sum  of  money  I  took  from  your  fatuous 
messenger  is  not  upon  me,  and  I  am  quite  unarmed. 
I  have  no  coadjutors.  Nobody  knows  that  I  am 
here." 

Bell,  Drummond,  and  Vaille,  the  third  still  backing 
Callaghan  with  his  pistol,  listened  in  eager  silence, 
none  of  them  attempting  to  interrupt.  They  felt 
that  they  were  assisting  at  a  colloquy  between  two 
giants. 

' '  I  am  fully  aware,"  said  Carey, ' '  that  in  this  house 
you  could  kill  me  and  dispose  of  my  body  without 
any  difficulty.  And  with  safety  to  yourselves,  in  my 
case,  as  far  as  the  police  are  concerned.  And  yet,  my 
good  Callaghan,"  he  added  with  a  lazy  smile,  "I 
perceive  that  you  hesitate!" 

"It  is  not  to  be  called  hesitation,"  returned  Cal- 
laghan calmly;  "the  position  pleases  me,  and  I 
wished  to  hear  if  you  had  anything  of  interest  to 
say  before  I  close  it.  I  have  only  to  press  the  trigger, 
and  I  have  never  missed  in  my  life." 

"Press  it  then,"  said  the  other  carelessly,  "and  be 
hanged." 

He  thrust  his  hands  deliberately  into  the  pockets  of 
his  jacket,  producing  first  a  pouch,  and  then  a  pipe, 
which  he  proceeded  to  fill  and  light.  His  tapered 
fingers,  mobile  and  strong  as  wire,  shielded  the 
match,  and  he  grinned  sardonically  at  Callaghan 
into  whose  eyes  had  crept  a  lurking  doubt. 

"And  that,"  said  Carey,  "is  not  a  figure  of  speech, 
but  is  literally  accurate.  If  you  kill  me,  you  will  be 
hanged.  Not  by  any  means,  however,  for  the  com- 
paratively venial  offence  of  shooting  me.  My 


234    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

worthy  Callaghan,  you  have  some  intelligence.  You 
do  not  suppose  I  am  such  a  fool  as  to  walk  into  this 
den  without  having  made  my  little  arrangements." 

He  scanned  the  faces  of  the  partners  with  an  air 
of  amusement. 

"If  anything  happens  to  me  tonight  the  records  of 
all  of  you,  your  headquarters,  your  association  with 
one  another,  and  your  connection  with  a  series  of 
interesting  operations  that  have  long  occupied  the 
attention  of  the  police ;  all  these  will  reach  the  proper 
authorities. ' '  Lord  Tallbois  chuckled  appreciatively. 
"You  are  admirably  camouflaged,  but  I,  you  see, 
am  the  weak  spot  in  your  reckoning.  I  am  the  only 
person  alive  who  could  give  you  away.  My  reve- 
lations would  be  something  of  a  bomb-shell.  You, 
my  excellent  Callaghan,  would  inevitably  make  the 
acquaintance  of  the  rope,  and  if  you  had  three  necks, 
like  the  Hydra  of  the  Iliad,  they  would  all  be  forfeit. 
And  unless  I  arrive  back  at  my  humble  quarters 
before  the  eight  o'clock  postal  delivery  in  the  morn- 
ing, you  will  account  for  it  in  full." 

He  took  the  pipe  from  his  lips  and  contemptuously 
ejected  a  stream  of  smoke  into  Callaghan's  face, 
enveloping  him  in  a  thick  haze. 

"Shoot,  Mr.  Callaghan,"  he  said  ironically.  "I 
am  a  large  mark.  You  can  hardly  miss  me." 

Mr.  Callaghan's  usually  immobile  face  twitched  a 
little.  He  stared  at  Carey,  and  slowly  lowered  the 
barrel  of  his  pistol. 

"It  does  appear,"  he  admitted,  "that  this  is  some- 
thing of  an  impasse." 

"It  is  a  deadlock,"  replied  CaTey.     "So  far  from 


THE  SECOND  COUP  235 

securing  your  own  safety  by  killing  me  you  will 
destroy  yourselves.  And  I,  too,  cannot  give  you 
away  without  betraying  James  Carey." 

"What,  then,  was  your  object  in  coming  here?" 
said  Callaghan. 

' '  I  considered  it  was  time  we  should  face  each  other 
and  clear  the  air.  Having  laid  my  plans  and 
delivered  myself  to  you  unarmed,  I  wished  to  see 
whether  you  would  have  the  p'uck  to  kill  me.  It 
seemed  to  me  quite  possible,"  said  Carey  quietly, 
"and  not  undesirable.  A  clean  sweep  of  the  whole 
five  of  us.  That,  on  the  whole,  might  be  the  best 
thing — for  Lady  Tallbois  of  Knayth." 

His  brooding  eyes  considered  the  four  men  thought- 
fully. 

"I  almost  hoped  for  it,  Callaghan.  But  you  were 
bluffing,  as  usual.  You  have  a  pitiful  propensity  to 
bluff.  It  is  a  thing  I  never  do  myself.  When  I 
raise  the  limit  I've  always  got  the  cards.  I  hold 
them  now.  And  so  your  pistol  is  useless." 

"What  is  it  you  want?"  exclaimed  Callaghan 
impatiently.  "Are  you  here  then  to  join  forces  with 
us  again — to  come  to  an  understanding?"  There 
was  a  note  of  hope  in  his  voice.  "Why  not?  It 
might  be  managed,  Carey!" 

The  tall  man's  eyes  narrowed  with  inexpressible 
scorn. 

"I  would  as  soon  join  forces,"  he  said  quietly, 
' '  with  a  pack  of  canaille  from  the  gutter.  When  I  had 
the  honour  to  lead  this  coterie  it  was  efficient  and 
it  was  loyal.  You  believed  me  dead,  therefore  you 
thought  fit  to  single  out  my  daughter  and  make  her 


236    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

life  a  hell  on  earth,  that  you  might  profit.  For  that," 
said  Lord  Tallbois  icily,  "there  can  be  neither  truce 
nor  forgiveness.  You  were  all  frightened  over  the 
hanging  of  Robert  Mardyke — a  man  worth  twenty 
such  as  you.  You  imagined  the  torture  and  black- 
mailing of  a  defenceless  woman  would  be  a  much 
safer  refuge.  Instead,  it  is  by  far  the  most  perilous 
enterprise  on  which  you  ever  embarked.  But  my 
time  here  is  up." 

His  face  cleared,  and  the  mocking  smile  returned 
to  his  lips. 

"At  this  point,  since  the  game  is  now  in  my  hands, 
I  must  express  a  certain  gratitude  to  you  all.  You 
really  did  collect  the  proofs  very  capably  and  install 
Lady  Tallbois  in  her  rights — a  task  that  for  me  was 
obviously  fraught  with  great  difficulties,  though  you 
charged  a  somewhat  exorbitant  fee.  Your  attempt 
to  levy  blackmail  on  the  strength  of  my  past  record 
was  clumsy;  however,  as  the  entire  sum  remains  in 
my  hands,  I  will  make  no  further  comment,  save  to 
express  my  obligation.  The  money, ' '  he  said  blandly, 
"remains  in  the  family.  I  have  ensured  that  you 
will  not  repeat  that  attempt.  It  appears,  then,  that 
you  have  played  your  cards  out;  the  honours  rest 
with  me,  and  having  thus  cleared  the  stage  I  will 
leave  you  to  your  reflections  and  return  to  my 
duties." 

A  faint  sigh  of  relief  escaped  the  partners.  It  was 
Drummond  who  first  spoke. 

"I  think,  Tallbois,  you  should  certainly  delay  no 
longer,"  he  said,  "or  you  will  find  yourself  dis- 
ciplined by  the  Knayth  butler." 


THE  SECOND  COUP  237 

Lord  Tallbois  smiled  appreciatively. 

"Thank  you,  Harold,"  he  said,  "there  was  always 
a  gleam  of  humour  in  you.  I  gather  that  Callaghan 
is  in  the  habit  of  addressing  his  confederates  as 
'gentlemen.'  He  is  scarcely  a  competent  judge;  you 
are  the  only  one  of  them  that  had  originally  the 
slightest  claim  to  that  title,  though  you  have  very 
little  backbone.  I  am  on  the  best  of  terms,  you 
will  be  glad  to  hear,  with  the  butler;  my  temporary 
absence  will  be  forgiven.  And  now,  'gentlemen/  I 
make  you  my  adieux.  You  have  appointed  your- 
selves lictors  to  the  Tallbois  family — but  Quis 
custodes  custodiet  ipsos?  Drummond  will  construe 
that  for  you,  and  give  you  the  answer.  I  recommend 
to  you  the  more  commonplace  pathways  of  crime." 

He  bowed  ironically  to  the  company,  and  walked  out 
through  the  doorway  from  which  Mr.  Bell  hastily  with- 
drew. His  tall  figure  disappeared  down  the  passage. 

Not  till  the  footfalls  had  died  away  and  Carey  had 
been  gone  for  fully  two  minutes,  did  any  of  the  com- 
pany move  or  speak.  Then  the  three  junior  partners 
turned  moody  eyes  upon  Mr.  Callaghan. 

To  their  surprise,  he  was  smiling.  It  was  not  a 
pleasant  smile,  for  it  laid  bare  the  fang-like  canine 
teeth  at  the  corners  of  his  mouth,  but  it  was  quite 
genuine  and  unforced.  It  increased  until  he  was 
shaking  all  over  with  merriment. 

"Really!"  he  said,  "it  is  entertaining.  Carey 
believes,  or  pretends  he  believes,  that  a  crisis  has 
been  marked,  the  game  is  his,  and  the  firm 
of  Callaghan  beaten.  But  the  real  blow  has  yet  to 
fall.  Within  twenty-four  hours  that  human  gold- 


238    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

reef,  Lady  Tallbois,  and  her  ineffable  father,  will  be 
delivered  into  the  crushing-mill."  He  turned  in  his 
seat.  "For  now  we  play  the  third  coup,  my  friends 
— the  third  coup!" 

A  flash  of  expectation  came  into  Bell's  eyes.  Mr. 
Callaghan  rose,  and  taking  down  the  portrait  of 
James  Carey  that  had  so  long  hung  over  the  mantel- 
piece, he  dropped  it  into  the  fire  and  pressed  it  down 
with  the  poker  so  that  the  flames  caught  it.  He  then 
faced  his  companions,  polished  his  spectacles,  replaced 
them,  and  beamed  at  Mr.  Bell. 

"Joan  Tallbois,"  he  said,  "has  no  more  right  to 
the  estates  and  title  of  Knayth  than  I  have!" 

The  three  others  stared  at  him  as  if  doubting 
whether  they  had  heard  aright.  They  drew  nearer 
to  their  leader. 

"Strange,  is  it  not?"  said  Callaghan  gently,  "that 
the  House  of  Lords  and  the  Bar  of  England  should 
so  fall  into  error?  Not  that  they  really  blundered. 
No,  no!  The  evidence  was  genuine,  the  finding 
of  the  Court  was  just.  Joan  is  William  Tallbois' 
daughter.  Unfortunately  for  her — there  is  another, 
and  an  elder  daughter." 

"You  say  that  Joan  has  a  sister! "  cried  Vaille. 

"Well,"  replied  Mr.  Callaghan,  rubbing  his  hands, 
"er — a  half-sister,  gentlemen." 

"You  mean  that  Carey  married  twice!" 

"Twice?"  echoed  Callaghan  blandly.  "I  should 
say  half  a  dozen  times,  to  my  knowledge.  Marriage 
was  a  recurring  habit  of  his.  He  thought  no  more 
of  the  contract,  Vaille,  than  you  would  of  buying 
a  packet  of  cigarettes.  It  is  sad  to  reflect  on  such 


THE  SECOND  COUP  239 

depravity.  Yet  if  you  study  the  newspapers  you 
will  find  there  are  many  men  of  the  type  who  could 
easily  surpass  Slim  Jim's  record." 

Vaille  drew  a  deep  breath. 

"Yes,"  said  Callaghan,  "that  suave,  supercilious 
devil  who  stood  here  before  us  and  valued  his  life 
at  no  more  than  a  pin's  purchase  had  a  wonderful  way 
with  women.  Yet  one  strange  fact  stands  out.  It 
really  seems  that  his  marriage  with  Helen  Lloyd  was 
the  only  one  that  held  him,  and  that  after  her  death 
her  daughter  was  the  only  living  creature  for  whom 
he  cared.  Who  shall  account  for  the  workings  of  the 
human  mind — especially  such  a  mind  as  Slim  Jim's? " 

"But  if  this  other  marriage  was  later?"  exclaimed 
Drummond. 

"Earlier,"  corrected  Mr.  Callaghan  suavely,  "else 
how  would  it  affect  us?  Listen.  In  the  Spanish 
church  at  Punta  Arenas,  South  Florida,  on  January 
30,  1898,  and  barely  a  month  after  his  first  landing 
in  America — William  Tallbois  took  to  wife  Mercedes 
De  Castra,  a  Spanish  half-breed  woman,  at  that  time 
no  doubt  of  singular  beauty.  He  deserted  her  after 
four  months,  and  from  that  day,  so  far  as  I  know, 
has  never  concerned  himself  with  her  existence.  She 
and  her  daughter  Agnes — rightfully  and  legally 
Agnes  Tallbois — were  deprived  of  a  worthy  husband 
and  father.  That,  gentlemen,  is  a  little  piece  of 
Mexican  Gulf  history  which  the  evidence  before  the 
House  of  Lords  did  not  bring  to  light!" 

The  news  struck  the  rest  of  the  brethren  speechless. 

"Later,  as  we  know  very  well,  Tallbois  married 
Helen  Lloyd  at  Calcarth,"  concluded  Callaghan. 


240    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

"And  his  first  wife — this  woman  De  Castra — was 
alive  at  the  time?"  cried  Drummond. 

"Of  course  she  was,"  replied  Callaghan  coolly. 
"She  is  alive  now,  and  her  daughter,  too.  At  this 
moment  they  are  both  crossing  the  Atlantic  in  the 
S.  S.  Livadia — and  I  expect  to  meet  them  at  South- 
ampton in  the  morning." 

This  statement  caused  stupefaction. 

"Then  have  you  only  lately  discovered  this 
extraordinary  affair?"  Drummond  exclaimed. 

Mr.  Callaghan  chuckled. 

"How  simple  you  are,  Drummond.  I  have  known 
it  from  the  first.  I  spent  eighteen  months  in  the 
Southern  States  tracing  and  completing  what  I 
knew  of  Slim  Jim's  career.  In  my  campaign  here 
I  have  naturally  put  the  cart  before  the  horse — Joan 
to  the  front  before  Agnes  De  Castra — because  in  no 
other  way  could  we  so  effectually  tap  the  Knayth 
gold-chests.  Our  trump  card  is  now  Agnes  and  her 
somewhat  dusky  mother.  Do  you  perceive?" 

"It  is  colossal — masterly!"  said  Vaille  with  deep 
admiration.  "How  did  you  contrive  to  keep  this 
ace  up  your  sleeve,  Chief?  The  marriage  of  Tallbois 
with  Helen  Lloyd  then,  was  no  marriage!" 

"None  at  all.  Joan  has  no  claim  in  law  to  either 
money  or  title,  and  only  a  courtesy  right  to  the  name 
of  Tallbois.  It  is  unfortunate  for  her,  but  you  will 
call  to  mind  a  text  beginning:  'The  sins  of  the 
fathers — '?  It  has  more  truth  in  it  probably  than 
our  friend  Carey's  Latin  quotation,  which  I  confess, 
not  being  a  public-school  man,  I  did  not  understand. 
But  I  can  tell  you  that  Joan  is  a  waif  and  a  beggar." 


THE  SECOND  COUP  241 

"And  this  can  be  proved?"  said  Bell  quickly. 

"Easily.  It  is  a  much  simpler  case  than  Joan's 
was.  She  succeeded  because  this  first  marriage  was 
wholly  unsuspected.  Once  brought  forward  it  can 
be  proved  immediately." 

' '  And  if  Joan  Tallbois  fights  ?  She  has  power  and 
money." 

"They  cannot  stand  against  the  simple  fact — the 
truth.  She  would  not  have  a  ghost  of  a  chance." 

"This  Spanish  woman  and  her  daughter?"  said 
Vaille.  "They  know,  then,  of  their  claim?" 

"Not  yet,"  smiled  Mr.  Callaghan.  "They  are 
coming  here  on  my  initiative  and  at  my  expense — I 
am  financing  them.  Money  means  a  good  deal  to 
them — they  are  very  poor,  and  I  fear,  not  parti- 
cularly honest.  The  girl  thinks  she  is  going  on  the 
stage  here.  She  can  sing.  And  I  think  she  will 
afford  you  much  amusement,  my  friends." 

Vaille  whistled. 

"Jim  Carey,  then?"  he  said;  "does  he  not  know 
that  these  curious  belongings  of  his  still  exist?" 

' '  I  should  judge  not.  But  that  I  am  unable  to  say 
with  certainty.  Who  can  tell  what  Slim  Jim  knows  ? 
But  if  not  he  will  not  remain  long  in  ignorance  now. 
His  legal  wife  will  land  in  England  tomorrow;  her 
daughter  Agnes  with  her — the  true  and  rightful  Vis- 
countess Tallbois  of  Knayth." 

Mr.  Callaghan  threw  back  his  massive  head  and 
laughed  with  frank  enjoyment. 

"I  wish,  my  friends,  you  could  see  that  pair  at  the 
moment!"  he  chuckled,  "and  observe  what  a  shock 
may  be  in  store  for  Mayfair  Society  and  the  English 

16 


242    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

peerage.  The  elder  woman  is  now  a  fat  nonentity. 
But  the  daughter,  who  has  a  strong  dash  of  colour  in 
her,  is  a  little  she-devil,  beautiful  in  her  way,  with  the 
temper  and  the  soul  of  a  rattlesnake." 

"But  look  here,  Chief,"  said  Drummond  eagerly, 
"how  have  you  worked  the  thing?  What  name  did 
Carey  marry  under?  How  is  it  possible  these  two 
people  will  not  know?" 

Callaghan  checked  him  with  a  raised  hand. 

"Enough  for  the  present,"  he  said.  "All  these 
things  will  be  made  clear  as  the  action  unfolds  itself. 
What  we  have  to  do  now  is  to  get  busy,  for  time  is 
short." 

He  held  up  a  finger. 

"First,"  he  said  impressively,  "Joan  Tallbois  is  to 
be  informed.  She  will  be  given  the  chance  to  pur- 
chase her  own  security,  and  remain  in  power!  The 
price  will  be  a  great  one — half  the  income  of  Knayth. 
If  she  surrenders  and  decides  to  pay,  then  we  shall 
hold  her  safe  from  the  half-caste  girl." 

' '  Can  you  do  that ! ' '  said  Vaille.  ' '  Can  you  hold 
down  the  mother  and  the  daughter?" 

"Trust  me,"  said  Callaghan  quietly.  "I  can  do 
it.  And  if  we  have  to  install  the  worthy  Agnes  at 
Knayth,  we  shall  still  secure  our  profit.  I've  got  her 
faster  than  ever  I  had  Joan." 

"Chief,"  said  Mr.  Bell,  breathing  hard,  "I  acclaim 
you !  For  a  few  minutes  today  I  thought  Carey  the 
greater  man.  But  you  have  genius !" 

Callaghan  disregarded  him. 

"If  Joan  refuses,"  he  said,  "she  sinks  in  one  day 
from  the  castle  to  the  gutter.  She  falls  a  hundred 


THE  SECOND  COUP  243 

fathoms  lower  than  when  she  was  Joan  Ayre,  the 
typist.  Title,  wealth,  position— and  lover;  all  lost 
at  a  single  blow.  For,"  he  said  with  a  slow  smile, 
"the  ambitious  and  immaculate  Mottisfont,  K.C., 
will  certainly  withdraw  from  alliance  with  a  nameless 
waif,  whose  only  dowry  is  the  shame  of  the  bar 
sinister." 

"You  think  she  will  accept  the  terms?"  said  Bell. 

"I  think  she  will  accept,"  answered  Callaghan 
with  confidence.  ' '  She  is  intensely  in  love  with  this 
man ;  her  life  is  wholly  wrapped  up  in  him.  When  a 
woman  is  very  much  in  love,  seeing  that  love  threat- 
ened with  disaster,  her  notions  of  strict  honour  are 
apt  to  fade — if  she  has  them.  And  we've  to  remem- 
ber— she  is  Slim  Jim's  daughter." 

"She  is  Slim  Jim's  daughter,"  echoed  Drummond, 
his  face  falling.  "We  are  not  likely  to  forget  it. 
What  will  Carey's  answer  be  to  this?  How  will  he 
strike  at  us,  when  he  knows?" 

"Let  him!"  returned  Callaghan  sharply.  "I  can 
counter  him.  Whatever  happens,  it  is  war  to  the 
knife.  His  hands  are  tied  by  this;  I  shall  have  the 
whip-hand  of  him.  I  say  this  thing  must  go  for- 
ward ! ' '  His  eyes  glinted  fiercely  as  he  looked  round. 
"If  any  one  of  you  is  afraid,  let  him  back  out  now!" 

The  partners  sought  each  other's  eyes.  A  nod  of 
agreement  passed. 

' '  We  must  hold  together, ' '  said  Vaille.  ' '  We  have 
no  choice.  I  will  carry  out  your  orders,  Chief,  for 
this  coup  is  too  great  to  fail." 

"So  be  it,"  said  Callaghan.  "On  her  return  to 
London,  Joan  Tallbois  receives  the  ultimatum." 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE  FINAL  OFFER 

FIVE  days  later  Joan  regretfully  abandoned 
Knayth  and  its  staff  for  a  necessary  twenty-four 
hours  in  town.  She  entered  her  house  in  Grosvenor 
Square  the  next  morning  after  an  expedition  to  Bond 
Street.  Joan  arrived  in  high  spirits,  which  were 
immediately  dashed  by  an  announcement  from  her 
rather  obtuse  butler. 

"A  Mr.  Vaille  is  here,  my  lady,"  he  said.  "He 
informed  me  your  ladyship's  orders  were  that  he  was 
to  await  your  return  if  you  were  out,  and  I  showed 
him  into  the  morning-room." 

Joan  flushed  with  anger  and  indignation.  That 
Mr.  Vaille,  after  her  previous  dismissal  of  him,  should 
gain  admittance  to  her  house  by  a  deliberate  lie, 
roused  her  very  thoroughly.  A  suspicion  of  the  but- 
ler himself  also  entered  her  mind;  she  glanced  at 
him  keenly,  but  suppressed  the  remark  that  was  on 
the  tip  of  her  tongue  and  walked  quickly  across  to 
the  morning-room.  Mr.  Vaille  was  there,  perfectly 
groomed  as  ever. 

"What  brings  you  to  my  house?"  said  Joan  very 
curtly.  "  I  told  you ' ' 

"Lady  Tallbois,"  said  Mr.  Vaille  in  a  low  voice 
"accept  my  apology.  But  a  crisis  has  arisen,  so 

244 


THE  FINAL  OFFER  245 

serious  that  you  should  be  informed  at  once.  You 
honourably  discharged  your  liability  to  me.  And 
now  I  only  regret,  for  your  sake,  that  I  gave  you  the 
evidence  that  placed  you  where  you  are.  It  was 
genuine  evidence.  I  could  not  foresee  the  disaster 
that  now  overtakes  you." 

"You  are  playing  with  words!"  broke  in  Joan 
impatiently.  ' '  What  disaster  ? ' ' 

"That  fact,"  said  Vaille  quietly,  "which,  failing 
drastic  action,  will  in  a  few  days  be  known  to  every- 
body. That  you  are  not  Lady  Tallbois.  That  you 
have  no  rights  in  the  title  and  estates  of  Knayth. 
That  there  is  another  claimant  who  will  take  from 
you  all  that  you  believed  to  be  yours." 

Very  slowly  the  colour  faded  from  Joan's  face. 
She  could  not  credit  her  senses.  Was  the  man  in  his 
right  mind? 

"  It  is  hard  for  me  to  say  this  to  you,"  said  Vaille, 
averting  his  face.  "  I  must,  however,  put  it  brutally 
and  briefly,  that  you  may  understand.  Your  father, 
William  Tallbois,  married  Mercedes  De  Castra  at  a 
place  called  Puntas  Arenas,  Florida,  in  1898.  He 
deserted  her  after  a  few  months.  When  he  married 
Helen  Lloyd  his  legal  wife  was  still  alive.  That 
second  marriage  was  no  marriage.  His  only  legiti- 
mate daughter  is  Agnes  De  Castra  Tallbois,  the  child 
of  his  wife  Mercedes.  She  is  Viscountess  Tallbois  of 
Knayth.  This  most  unfortunate  truth,  which  your 
law-suit  did  not  reveal,  has  only  now  come  to  light." 

Joan  looked  at  him  steadily,  and  for  some  moments 
was  silent.  When  at  last  she  spoke,  her  voice  was 
unnaturally  cold  and  calm. 


246    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

"For  a  long  time  past,"  she  said,  "  I  seem  to  have 
been  enveloped  in  a  web  of  lies.  This,  I  suppose,  is 
another." 

Quietly  though  she  spoke,  a  deadly  conviction 
already  crept  into  her  mind,  that  whatever  false- 
hoods had  been  spoken  in  the  past,  this  at  last  was 
the  truth. 

"It  is  plain  fact,"  answered  Vaille.  "Absolute, 
final,  and  unanswerable.  The  woman  is  now  in 
England,  and  no  public  action  at  law  can  defeat  her 
claim.  Name,  title,  and  money,  are  all  hers,  and 
she  has  only  to  make  them  good." 

Joan  took  two  or  three  steps  away  from  him; 
suddenly  her  knees  seemed  to  give  way  under  her, 
and  she  sank  into  a  chair.  She  did  not  look  at  Vaille. 

Evil  news,  according  to  its  purport,  may  drive  the 
recipient  to  grief,  to  rage,  or  to  despair.  But  this 
blow  was  so  deadly  and  involved  so  complete  a  down- 
fall, that  Joan's  emotion  appeared  exhausted.  She 
was  extraordinarily  calm  and  unresponsive.  Thus 
it  is  that  some  women  receive  the  death  sentence. 

It  was  difficult  for  a  few  moments  to  realize  fully 
what  it  meant  to  her.  And  Vaille  was  still  speaking, 
explaining,  making  it  clear.  Joan  only  heard  a  mist 
of  confused  words.  She  heard  him  as  one  hears 
people  talking  in  a  nightmare.  And  yet  she  believed 
the  main  fact  he  had  told  her  was  true.  It  was 
absurd  to  suppose  he  had  come  there  merely  to  lie. 

"I  am  infinitely  sorry,"  murmured  Vaille.  "I 
could  do  nothing  but  warn  you." 

Position — wealth — title — all  these,  she  saw,  were 
swept  away  at  a  blow.  The  right  to  bear  a  name. 


THE  FINAL  OFFER  247 

And  they  meant  very  little.  There  was  one  over- 
shadowing tragedy  she  foresaw.  Philip  .  .  . 

She  put  a  trembling  hand  over  her  heart. 

"There  is  a  way  out,"  she  heard  Vaille's  voice  say- 
ing very  softly.  "Money  will  save  you  yet." 

She  turned  to  him  slowly.  A  gleam  of  hope  came 
into  her  eyes. 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"  I  mean  that  it  is  possible  for  you  to  buy  off  this 
claim.  I  will  undertake  it  for  you  if  you  entrust  it 
to  me." 

Joan  stared  blankly. 

"I  will  ensure  your  safety!"  said  Vaille,  leaning 
forward  and  speaking  very  distinctly.  "You  may 
remain  at  Knayth  and  enjoy  all  that  you  now  hold. 
It  will  cost  you — half  the  income  of  Knayth  yearly. 
But  is  not  that  better  than  to  lose  all?  Never  mind 
the  means;  I  will  make  that  clear  to  you  when  you 
have  consented.  Today  I  can  prevent  your  rival 
from  entering  the  field  against  you.  Tomorrow 
it  will  be  too  late." 

"You  tell  me,"  said  Joan  dazedly,  "that  you  can 
do  this." 

"Madam,"  replied  Vaille,  "I  never  promise  what 
I  cannot  perform.  I  say  I  can  bring  this  about,  just 
as  surely  as  I  brought  about  your  establishment  in 
your  present  position.  I  will  give  you  every  proof 
that  what  I  say  is  true.  I  can  leave  you  in  posses- 
sion, in  the  eyes  of  the  world,  as  Lady  Tallbois 
of  Knayth." 

Joan  could  only  sit  and  stare  at  him. 

"I  wonder,"  she  said  slowly,  "how  you  dare  to 


248    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

come  to  me  with  this  proposal — and  put  yourself  in 
my  power!" 

"Not  at  all,"  replied  Vaille  with  perfect  confid- 
ence. "I  am  offering  you  a  private  financial  com- 
promise which  you  can  take  or  leave  as  you  choose. 
If  you  accept,  you  are  bound  to  secrecy.  If  you 
refuse,  you  may  shout  it  from  the  house-tops  if  you 
like.  No  one  will  believe  you,  nor  will  it  affect  me 
if  they  do.  But  you,  Lady  Tallbois,  will  retire  from 
the  world  of  Mayfair  into  the  unknown — outcast, 
nameless,  and  a  pauper."  His  voice  dropped  to  an 
insinuating  whisper.  "Why  should  you?  Why 
should  you? — when  a  word  will  save  you? " 

Suddenly  Joan  felt  herself  begin  to  tremble  vio- 
lently. Every  hope  that  life  held  was  being  snatched 
from  her  hands.  It  meant,  surely  and  inexorably, 
the  loss  of  her  lover.  What  claim  had  she  on  Philip 
now?  She  had  no  right  even  to  her  father's  name. 
Wealth  and  honour  were  swept  away;  nothing  was 
left  but  a  heritage  of  shame.  It  was  a  horror  too 
deep  for  tears. 

And  this  suave,  efficient  adventurer  before  her, 
pointed  the  way  out.  She  believed  his  story;  she 
believed  he  could  do  what  he  promised.  How,  she 
did  not  know,  but  likely  enough  there  was  safety  for 
her  in  this  bargain  with  the  powers  of  darkness,  if 
the  price  was  paid. 

Her  lips  tightened,  and  she  fought  with  herself. 
Vaille,  who  was  watching  her  like  a  cat,  spoke  just  as 
she  was  wavering. 

"Your  future — your  happiness?"  he  said  softly. 
"Will  you  fling  these  away  with  both  hands,  rather 


THE  FINAL  OFFER  249 

than  say  the  word?     I  can  save  them  for  you.     Is 
there  only  yourself  to  think  of?" 

Joan  felt  a  stab  of  agony  that  was  like  a  knife  turn- 
ing in  a  wound.  Her  hands  opened  and  clenched; 
suddenly  she  crossed  the  room  and  came  close  to  Vaille. 

"Half  the  income  of  Knayth?"  she  whispered. 
"Is  that  the  price — to  leave  me  as  I  am?" 

1 '  Half, ' '  replied  Vaille  quickly.  ' '  Thirty  thousand 
pounds  a  year.  It  will  still  leave  you  a  rich  woman. 
You  are  not  asked  to  make  a  bargain  in  the  dark — 
you  shall  have  every  safeguard.  On  our  part  we 
shall  make  it  a  certainty  for  you,  since  if  we  ever 
fail  we  shall  lose  our  pay.  We  will  not  fail." 

Joan  stood  silent.  Her  bosom  rose  and  fell  pain- 
fully. There  was  a  strange,  almost  dangerous  gleam 
in  her  eyes.  Vaille,  as  he  watched  her  felt  a  thrill  of 
triumph.  He  saw  that  she  was  yielding;  that  the 
game  was  his. 

With  a  swift  impulse  she  turned  upon  him,  so 
abruptly  that  he  almost  shrank  back. 

"No!"  said  Joan  hoarsely.  "The  answer  is  no! 
If  this  is  true  let  the  girl  take  the  rights  that  are  hers 
by  law!  Should  the  claim  be  just,  I  will  not  even 
fight  her  in  the  courts !  She  is  my  father's  daughter. ' ' 

Vaille  started  up,  but  before  he  could  speak  she 
pressed  the  bell. 

"As  for  you,"  she  said,  "I  concede  you  this  much. 
Since  you  have  seen  me  in  a  moment  of  weakness,  I 
shall  hold  my  peace  as  to  this  infamous  offer.  My 
humiliation  is  complete.  But  I  will  surrender  to  the 
heiress  of  the  Tallbois,  and  not  to  adventurers!  It 
is  finished." 


250    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

The  butler  opened  the  door. 

"Show  this  man  out,"  said  Joan. 

Vaille  turned  to  go.  Again  Joan  addressed  the 
servant. 

"Should  he  ever  present  himself  again,"  she  said, 
"you  will  give  him  in  charge  of  the  police  as  a 
blackmailer,  at  my  order,  and  instantly  communicate 
with  me.  You  understand  ? ' ' 

"Y — yes  m'lady,"  said  the  startled  butler. 

Vaille  preserved  his  composure.  He  bowed  deeply 
to  Joan,  and  passed  out.  In  another  minute  the 
front  door  clanged  behind  him. 

Joan  dropped  upon  a  sofa  and  pressed  her  hands 
to  her  burning  temples.  She  tried  to  think,  but  the 
horror  of  it  all  was  almost  too  much  to  grasp.  After 
a  long  pause  she  collected  her  faculties  with  an  effort 
of  will  and  went  into  the  room  where  stood  the 
telephone. 

There  was  only  one  thing  to  do.  Advice  must  be 
sought  immediately,  and  the  truth  made  clear.  She 
rang  up  Philip's  chambers,  and  the  reply  was  some 
time  in  coming.  She  did  not  recognize  the  voice 
that  answered. 

"Mr.  Mottisfont  'phoned  from  the  courts  directing 
his  servant  to  pack  a  bag  and  bring  it  to  King's  Cross. 
Neither  of  them  have  returned;  I  think  Mr.  Mot- 
tisfont caught  the  Northern  express.  He  left  no 
address,  but  will  probably  telephone  or  wire  it.  Will 
you  leave  a  message,  or  ring  up  again?" 

Joan  hung  up  the  receiver  and  sat  rigid,  staring 
before  her  with  dry  eyes.  The  thought  flashed 
instantly  into  her  mind — Vaille  was  not  the  first  to 


THE  FINAL  OFFER  251 

glean  news  of  her  coming  downfall.  In  the  courts, 
doubtless,  more  than  an  inkling  of  it  was  already 
known.  Philip  Mottisfont,  in  the  hour  of  her  direst 
need,  was  not  at  hand. 

Was  Philip  the  first  to  desert  the  sinking  ship  ? 


CHAPTER  XXI 

A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  SUN 

MR.  CALLAGHAN  rolled  an  excellent  cigar  apprecia- 
tively between  his  lips,  and  watched  the  landscape 
of  Hampshire  speeding  past  the  carriage  windows. 
"You  have  not  so  far  impressed  us  as  being  what  one 
would  call  a  marrying  man,  my  dear  Drurnmond,"  he 
said  pensively. 

"Well,  hardly,"  replied  Drummond,  without  look- 
ing up  from  the  Sporting  Times.  The  two  of  them 
were  sharing  an  otherwise  empty  first-class  compart- 
ment in  the  Southampton  train.  "  Why  ?  " 

"It  will  be  a  pleasant  change  for  you,"  said  Mr. 
Callaghan  reflectively. 

"Eh!"  exclaimed  Dmmmond,  dropping  his  paper. 
He  saw  the  silver-rimmed  spectacles  regarding  him 
benignantly,  yet  with  a  certain  cold  determination. 
He  became  uneasy. 

"  I  hope,"  said  Mr.  Callaghan,  "that  you  will  soon  be 
entering  the  blissful  state  of  matrimony,  Drummond." 

"Good  heavens,  Chief!  What  are  you  talking 
about?"  gasped  the  young  man. 

"With  the  Senorita  Agnes  De  Castra  Tallbois, 
daughter  of  William  and  Mercedes  of  that  ilk,"  pur- 
sued Callaghan,  placing  his  finger-tips  together. 
"She  would  make  you  an  excellent  wife." 

25* 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  SUN  253 

Drummond  gazed  at  him  in  unaffected  horror. 

"  By  all  I've  heard  of  her  from  you,  I'd  sooner  shoot 
myself!"  he  said  dizzily. 

"Come,  come,"  said  Mr.  Callaghan.  "A  little 
coyness  is,  of  course,  natural  in  one  so  young,  but 
you  really  put  the  matter  too  strongly.  A  peeress  of 
England,  with  sixty  thousand  pounds  a  year!  Does 
not  that  counterbalance  a  little  crudity  of  temper  and 
a  strong  dash  of  Spanish  blood — with  perhaps  a  tinge 
of  African?  The  young  lady  is  really  an  excellent 
parti." 

"But  my  dear  Chief,  how  on  earth " 

"You  are  quite  a  personable  young  man,"  inter- 
rupted Mr.  Callaghan,  regarding  Drummond  critically. 
"Decidedly  good-looking.  And  you  are  fair-haired 
(that  crisp,  curling  gold  is  very  attractive,  Drum- 
mond) and  blue  eyed ;  while  she  is — er — rather  dark. 
It  augurs  well.  Then  you  are  well-born,  and  have 
the  entree  of  the  best  social  circles,  which  will  be  a 
decided  advantage.  Yes,  I  foresee  a  very  happy 
union." 

Drummond  drew  a  long  breath,  and  eyed  his  com- 
panion with  consternation. 

"What  an  excellent  thing  for  your  friends,  too," 
purred  Mr.  Callaghan.  "Knayth  would,  indeed,  be 
our  milch-cow.  We  should  not  be  hard  on  you,  my 
dear  fellow.  After  we  had  drawn  our  dividends,  and 
a  small  bonus  from  yourself,  there  would  still  be 
plenty  left  for  you.  Don't  look  at  me  so  coldly. 
Such  things  are  not  to  be  picked  up  by  the  wayside. 
Isn't  sixty  thousand  pounds  a  year  good  enough  for 
you,  and  the  mastership  of  Knayth?" 


254    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

'Yes,  it  is,"  said  Drummond,  after  a  pause.  "I 
should  be  a  fool  to  miss  such  a  chance.  But  is  it  a 
chance  at  all,  Chief?  You  are  talking  as  if  it  was  a 
certainty!" 

"No,  it  is  not  a  certainty.  It  is  merely  a  tender 
hope  I  cherish,"  said  Mr.  Callaghan,  beaming  at  him 
amiably.  "You  will  be  thrown  together  with  this 
delightful  young  lady,  and  I  hope  for  a  happy  out- 
come, ending  in  orange-blossoms  and  Mendelssohn's 
music.  It  is  not  an  essential  part  of  my  plans,  but  it 
would  round  everything  off  most  admirably.  I  feel 
most  sentimental  today ;  already  as  in  a  vision  I  see 
you  leading  the  charming  Agnes  to  the  altar.  You 
must  put  forth  your  best  efforts." 

"What,  at  once?" 

"No,  no,  of  course  not.  When  she  is  in  full 
possession — assuming  that  we  place  her  on  the 
throne.  I  don't  gamble,  Drummond,  I  play  for 
certainties,  and  I  would  not  dream  of  landing  you 
with  a  possible  fiasco.  You  must  be  first  in  the  field, 
that  is  all." 

"You  forget  one  little  drawback,  even  if  it  came 
off,"  said  Drummond,  looking  somewhat  disconsolate. 
"The  pleasure  of  having  Slim  Jim  for  a  father-in- 
law." 

"  I  do  not  forget  it  at  all.  You  would  be  no  worse 
off  than  you  are  now,  and  sixty  thousand  pounds 
better.  Jim  Carey  will  hardly  be  so  tactless  as  to 
murder  his  own  son-in-law.  You  would  be  the  safest 
of  the  party,  and  already  he  is  well-disposed  to  you. 
Last  night  you  were  the  only  one  of  us  of  whom  he 
spoke  well,"  said  Mr.  Callaghan  blandly.  "He  will 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  SUN  255 

doubtless  fall  on  your  neck,  and  give  you  his 
blessing." 

"Vaille  had  Carey's  hands  round  his  neck  once," 
replied  Drummond  with  a  shiver,  "and  I  am  not 
exactly  pining  for  any  caresses  of  that  sort." 

"  Do  not  damp  me  with  these  frivolous  objections," 
said  Mr.  Callaghan.  "I  am  the  messenger  of  Hy- 
men, and  on  thinking  it  over,  you  will  see  that  I  speak 
for  your  good."  He  darted  a  keen  glance  at  his 
companion.  "You  will  obey  orders,  Drummond." 

Drummond  looked  silently  at  the  man  opposite 
him.  He  recognized  the  cold,  deadly  egotism  that 
lurked  behind  those  gold  spectacles;  the  extra- 
ordinary driving  force  and  pitilessness  of  him  who 
played  with  his  associates  as  though  they  were  pawns 
on  a  chess-board. 

"I  suppose  I  shall  obey,"  said  Drummond,  with  a 
sigh,  "but  these  things  are  on  the  knees  of  the  gods. 
Don't  let  us  meet  trouble  before  it  comes.  And  as 
we  shall  be  meeting  the  genuine  Tallbois  claimant 
and  her  mother  in  half  an  hour,  you  must  prepare 
me  by  giving  certain  information  that  you  have  so 
far  held  back." 

"What  do  you  want  to  know?"  asked  Callaghan. 

"In  the  first  place,  under  what  name  did  Slim  Jim 
many  this  Spanish  woman  ?  His  own  ? " 

' '  Under  the  name  of  Le  Mesurier, ' '  replied  the  Chief. 

"Humph.  But  will  not  that  make  proof  of  the 
claim  more  difficult  ? " 

"On  the  contrary,  easier.  William  Tallbois' 
identity  with  Le  Mesurier  has  already  been  well 
established.  The  claim,  I  tell  you,  is  a  walk-over." 


256    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

"Is  it  not  strange,  Chief,  that  this  woman  and  her 
daughter  have  not  heard  about  Le  Mesurier  and 
become  'wise*  ?  The  Tallbois  case  made  a  big  noise 
here,  and  even  abroad.  In  any  event,  won't  they 
tumble  to  it  now — perhaps  before  you  want  them  to  ? " 

' '  For  a  year  past, ' '  replied  Callaghan  calmly, ' '  they 
have  been  living  in  an  obscure  village  in  Florida,  and 
I  know  they  have  heard  nothing  about  it.  For  what 
they  may  hear  in  England — well,  one  must  take  a 
little  risk,  and  it  matters  the  less  because  I  shall  get 
busy  at  once.  Believe  me,  I  have  them  under  a  most 
effective  thumb." 

"I  can  believe  that.  What  does  the  woman  call 
herself  now?" 

"She  calls  herself  by  her  former  name,  De  Castra. 
She  seems  to  have  acquired  a  decided  dislike  to  the 
memory  and  name  of  the  husband  who  deserted  her 
after  a  few  months,  and  whom  she  has  long  believed 
dead.  It  is  a  custom  among  the  Spanish  races  to 
combine  surnames  on  marriage,  you  know.  The 
daughter  was  raised  in  the  Eastern  States  as  a  singer 
and  dancer  in  third-rate  joints ;  she  can  talk  Spanish, 
but  her  natural  speech  is  of  the  Bowery.  Any  more 
fool  questions  to  ask,  Drummond?  Thank  goodness 
for  that.  You  know  all  you  need,  and  here  is 
Southampton." 

The  train  slid  to  a  standstill  and  they  got  out. 

"Now,"  said  Mr.  Callaghan,  "I  am  going  to  the 
South  Western  Hotel  here  at  the  station,  and  you, 
Drummond,  will  go  across  to  the  docks  and  meet  the 
Livadia;  she  is  a  day  late,  but  was  signalled  off  the 
Lizard  this  morning,  and  will  come  in  on  this  tide — 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  SUN  257 

you  should  just  catch  her.  I  don't  want  to  appear 
on  her  myself.  Find  Senora  De  Castra  and  her 
daughter,  which  you  will  do  without  any  difficulty, 
and  bring  them  to  the  hotel." 

Drummond  departed  obediently  on  his  errand,  and 
found  that  the  time  had  been  run  rather  fine — the 
liner  was  even  then  coming  into  her  berth  at  the  quay. 
He  had  secured  a  taxi,  which  he  ordered  to  wait,  and 
as  soon  as  he  was  able  to  board  the  steamer  he  con- 
trived to  get  hold  of  a  busy  purser  who  had  just  come 
on  deck,  and  enquired  for  Mrs.  De  Castra.  Did  he 
know  such  a  name  on  his  passenger  list? 

"I  should  say  so!  That's  her,  standing  by  the 
hatchway,"  replied  the  purser  hurriedly  passing  on, 
and  Drummond  approached  the  figure  that  was 
pointed  out  to  him. 

The  woman  was  unlike  anything  he  had  imagined. 
Once,  perhaps,  she  had  been  handsome.  Now  she 
was  common-place,  fat,  with  two  chins  and  a  com- 
plexion of  the  same  tint  as  a  banana  skin.  She  waddled 
in  her  walk,  wore  a  good  deal  of  black  lace,  and  there 
was  a  curious,  pathetic  look  in  her  eyes. 

"Mrs.  De  Castra?"  asked  Drummond,  raising  his 
hat. 

"Si,  si!'1  said  the  woman  eagerly,  turning  to  him, 
"  it  is  my  name.  And  you  ? ' ' 

"Drummond,  at  your  service,"  said  the  young 
man.  "At  the  South  Western  Hotel  we  shall  find  a 
friend  of  mine  who  has  just  arrived  there — Mr. 
Callaghan." 

It  seemed  to  him  that  the  woman  winced  at  the 
name. 
17 


258    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

"Esta  bueno"  she  said,  "perhaps  you  vill  show  us 
de  vay.  Here  comes  my  daughter.  Agnes,  carith! 
Let  me  present  to  you  a  friend,  the  Senor 
Drummond." 

A  girl  who  had  just  come  up  the  hatchway  turned 
in  answer  to  the  call,  and  Drummond  felt  a  decided 
shock  as  he  looked  Agnes  De  Castra  Tallbois  in  the 
face. 

She  was  slim  and  of  the  middle  height,  with  the 
boneless  suppleness  and  grace  of  the  Latin  races. 
The  girl  was  undeniably  beautiful,  but  her  skin  was  a 
dark  olive,  her  lips  very  red  and  curved,  with  slightly 
cruel  lines  at  the  corners.  Her  dress  was  showy  and 
tawdry,  her  whole  appearance  and  manner  exotic. 

She  looked  at  Drummond  with  a  bold,  flashing 
stare — a  strangely  defensive,  searching  look.  Then 
she  smiled,  showing  very  white  teeth.  Drummond's 
pink  and  cream  English  skin  seemed  to  please  her. 

"Got  a  cab  here?"  she  said  abruptly. 

"Yes,  I've  a  taxi  waiting,"  said  Drummond,  rather 
startled. 

"Then  let's  get  a  move  on!"  said  the  girl,  with  a 
strong  East-side  accent  that  contrasted  oddly  with 
her  appearance,  and  had  no  trace  of  Spanish  in  it. 
"Have  the  baggage  sent  to  the  hotel." 

The  stout  Sefiora  De  Castra  seemed  to  take  every- 
thing for  granted.  In  another  minute  Drummond 
was  seated  opposite  her  and  her  daughter  in  the  taxi, 
driving  towards  the  dock  gateway. 

"Say!"  exclaimed  the  girl,  "I'm  mighty  glad  to  be 
quit  of  that  shuck-heap  of  a  steamer.  Over  a  week 
cooped  on  her  like  a  chicken  in  a  picking-pen.  Me 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  SUN  259 

for  the  sidewalks  and  the  glittering  throng.  What 
sort  of  money  do  the  vaudeville  houses  play  to  here? 
Say,  are  you  in  the  Profession?" 

"In  the — ?  Oh,  no,  I'm  afraid  I'm  not.  I'm  an 
idle,  useless  sort  of  fellow,  Miss  De  Castra,"  said 
Drummond  smiling.  "I  only  know  the  theatres 
from  the  wrong  side  of  the  footlights — the  audience's 
side.  But  Callaghan's  an  old  friend  of  mine;  he'll  be 
able  to  tell  you  more  than  I  can." 

Agnes  De  Castra  looked  him  over,  with  a  keenly 
appraising  expression  in  her  large  black  eyes.  She 
noted  his  perfectly  cut  clothes,  his  well-groomed 
head,  and  his  air  of  ease  and  self-possession.  She 
set  him  down  as  a  man-about-town,  or  in  her  own 
argot,  a  "high-flyer";  but  of  a  different  type  from 
those  she  had  known  in  the  States. 

Drummond,  for  his  part,  watched  her  unobtrus- 
ively and  without  seeming  to  do  so,  as  he  talked. 
He  had  never  seen  anybody  like  her.  She  was 
amazing.  The  contrast  of  her  exotic  southern 
beauty,  with  its  touch  of  savagery,  and  the  flowing 
city  slang  that  suggested  the  down-town  dancing 
saloons  of  the  North,  was  puzzling,  till  he  remem- 
bered what  Callaghan  had  told  him  of  her  life. 

She  reminded  him  of  some  beautiful  feline  animal. 
Her  suppleness  and  the  tinge  of  a  pink  flush  on  her 
olive  cheeks  when  she  was  stirred,  were  very  attract- 
ive, and  spoke  of  the  Spanish  and  English  inter- 
mixture. But  the  dark,  opal-tinted  half-moons  at 
the  base  of  her  finger-nails,  though  less  marked  than 
those  of  her  mother,  spoke  plainly  of  a  tinge  of 
African  blood.  Drummond,  a  well-travelled  man, 


260    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

knew  the  sign.  In  England  she  was  white;  in  the 
Southern  States  she  might  have  caused  trouble  if  she 
boarded  a  white  man's  street-car. 

And  this  was  the  heiress  of  the  Tallbois — descend- 
ant of  an  ancient  race,  and  daughter  of  the  most 
ruthless  criminal  of  his  time.  Slim  Jim  Carey  had 
bequeathed  a  strange  recruit  to  the  English  peerage! 

Even  her  fat  and  placid  mother  seemed  afraid  of 
her. 

The  taxi  drew  up  at  the  hotel,  and  Drummond 
marshalled  his  charges  into  the  private  sitting-room 
where  Callaghan,  urbane  and  smiling,  rose  impres- 
sively to  receive  them. 

"Welcome  to  England,  Senora!"  he  said,  pressing 
the  elder  lady's  plump  yellow  hand,  and  "your 
charming  daughter.  I  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  her 
last  in  Chicago,  before  she  returned  to  you  in  the 
South."  He  bowed  low  to  Agnes.  "I  anticipate  a 
triumph  for  you  in  England — though  the  way  at  first 
may  be  hard,  but  I  have  great  influence." 

"  I  do  not  wish  that  she  appear  on  the  stage  here  in 
her  own  name,"  pleaded  the  Senora,  a  little  nervously. 

"What's  in  a  name?"  quoted  Mr.  Callaghan. 
"A  great  deal,  you  may  find,  Miss  Agnes.  A  great 
deal." 

Drummond  observed  that  the  mother  seemed  to 
stand  in  decided  awe  of  Callaghan,  and  that  the  girl 
herself  regarded  him  with  a  sort  of  sullen,  defensive 
watchfulness  as  if  even  she  were  a  little  afraid  of  him. 
It  impressed  Drummond  more  than  ever  with  the 
capabilities  of  his  leader. 

"It  desolates  me  that  I  was  not  there  to  meet  you 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  SUN  261 

both,"  said  Mr.  Callaghan,  "but  I  am  in  indifferent 
health,  and  this  east  wind  makes  me  feel  very  old  and 
helpless."  He  polished  his  spectacles  deprecatingly. 
"I  trust  I  am  forgiven?" 

"Mr.  Drummond  has  been  very  polite,"  said 
Agnes,  with  a  glance  at  him. 

"Ah,  Drummond  is  always  polite,"  replied  Mr. 
Callaghan  laughing,  ' '  and  unlike  most  of  his  type,  it 
is  a  politeness  that  comes  from  the  heart.  Drum- 
mond is  a  social  butterfly,  who  moves  among  the 
elect,  and  needs  neither  to  toil  nor  spin,  whereas  I  am 
merely  a  man  of  business.  I  dare  swear,  Miss  Agnes, 
that  you  have  never  met  anybody  quite  like  Drum- 
mond. But  let  us  come  down,  as  you  would  say,  to 
brass  tacks.  Yes  ?  Come  in ! " 

There  was  a  rap  at  the  door,  and  a  messenger 
appeared. 

"Telegram,  sir — name  Callaghan." 

Callaghan,  excusing  himself,  opened  it.  The  tele- 
gram was  in  code,  but  he  had  no  difficulty  in  reading 
it  without  reference  to  the  key. 

Nothing  doing  with  Joan.  Her  refusal  is  final. 
Do  not  think  she  will  fight  the  case.  The  way  is  clear. 
—  Vaille. 

"There  is  no  answer,"  said  Callaghan  quietly  to 
the  messenger  boy.  He  folded  the  telegram  care- 
fully and  slipped  it  into  his  vest  pocket.  The 
fleetest  of  glances  at  Drummond,  and  a  faint  shake 
of  the  head,  acquainted  that  person  with  the  mean- 
ing of  the  message. 

"Shall  we  go  to  lunch?"  said  Callaghan  rising. 
"You  must  be  hungry  after  your  voyage." 


262    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

"For  me,  no,"  said  the  Senora  faintly.  "I  shall 
never  get  used  to  the  sea,  and  I  have  not  yet  recov- 
ered from  that  steamer.  I  desire  neither  the  to-eat 
nor  the  to-drink.  With  your  permission,  Senor,  I 
shall  wait  till  the  evening." 

"In  that  case,"  said  Mr.  Callaghan,  "perhaps, 
Drummond,  you  will  escort  the  Sefiorita  De  Castra 
to  the  table  d'h6te,  which  is  excellent  here.  Her 
radiant  beauty  assures  me  that  her  health  has  not 
suffered  by  the  voyage,  and  there  is  no  reason  why 
she  should  forego  her  luncheon.  I  will  remain  here 
and  entertain  the  Senora  to  the  best  of  my  poor 
ability." 

Agnes  De  Castra  looked  at  Drummond  and  smiled. 
He  offered  his  arm,  the  girl  took  it,  and  walked  out 
of  the  room  beside  him  with  a  sinuous,  cat-like  grace. 
Already  they  seemed  on  the  best  of  terms.  Mr. 
Callaghan  smiled  as  he  watched  them. 

"A  remarkably  handsome  couple,"  he  said  to  Mrs. 
De  Castra. 

"Yes,"  said  the  woman  nervously.  She  seemed 
to  shrink  a  little  from  Mr.  Callaghan  as  soon  as  she 
found  herself  alone  with  him. 

"And  now,"  he  said,  seating  himself  beside  her,  "I 
have  a  few  words  to  say  to  you,  for  which  I  beg 
your  most  particular  attention." 

Whereupon  he  proceeded  to  give  the  Senora  the 
most  amazing  news  she  had  ever  heard  in  her  life. 


Mr.  Callaghan  stretched  himself  luxuriously  before 
the  fire  in  the  cosy  sitting-room  at  headquarters. 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  SUN  263 

The  portrait  of  Slim  Jim  Carey  had  disappeared 
from  over  the  chimney-piece. 

"In  a  few  minutes,"  said  Mr.  Callaghan,  "I  expect 
Bell.  He  will  escort  that  fascinating  young  creature, 
Agnes  De  Castra,  Lady  Tallbois,  who  will  learn  from 
us  exactly  what  her  future  is,  and  what  we  require 
from  her.  I  shall  form  my  own  judgment  of  her  here, 
and  our  next  move  will  be  decided  on  and  set  going 
before  we  part  with  her." 

Vaille  whistled  gently. 

"You  take  my  breath  away  sometimes,  Chief,"  he 
said.  "You  say  you're  going  to  let  this  little  tiger- 
cat  into  our  inner  lodge,  where  none  but  the  faithful 
have  ever  been  admitted?  Is  she  to  see  the  Cal- 
laghan Firm  at  home,  and  take  tea  with  it  ?  Surely 
this  is  risky;  you  are  putting  us  into  her  hands." 

"Not  so,"  said  Callaghan  quietly.  "I  have 
weighed  all  the  pros  and  cons  most  carefully,  and  I 
intend  to  let  her  a  little  way  into  the  ring.  Regard 
her  as  our  latest  recruit,  Vaille.  She  has  all  the 
qualifications.  It  is  better  than  dealing  with  her  at 
arm's  length." 

Vaille  paused,  and  made  an  affirmative  sign. 

"I  won't  criticize,  Chief,"  he  said.  "I've  ques- 
tioned your  wisdom  before,  but  you've  always  proved 
right.  And  the  more  startling  your  policy  is,  the 
more  right  it  always  seems  to  be  in  the  end.  Have 
it  as  you  will.  What  about  the  mother?" 

"I  have  told  the  Sefiora,"  said  Callaghan,  with  a 
slight  sneer,  "all  that  it  is  good  for  her  to  know. 
She  leaves  the  matter  in  my  hands ;  she  has  no  other 
alternative.  And  now  for  the  girl.  You  may  per- 


264    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

haps  imagine  that  when  she's  in  possession  of  the 
Tallbois  fortune,  she  will  kick  over  the  traces  and 
turn  us  down.  It  is  not  so.  Though  this  time  she 
is  the  genuine  article,  I  still  hold  the  strings,  and  shall 
continue  to  do  so.  She  knows  me  well  enough  to 
see  where  her  interest  lies." 

He  rose,  and  wheeled  the  most  comfortable  chair 
in  the  room  carefully  over  the  trap-door.  Just  then 
a  bell  on  the  mantelpiece  buzzed  faintly,  and  Mr. 
Callaghan  left  the  room.  He  returned  in  a  couple  of 
minutes,  accompanied  by  Theophilus  Bell  and  Miss 
Agnes  De  Castra. 

"How  charming  of  you  to  come  to  us!"  said 
Callaghan,  taking  her  hand.  "You  will  not  regret 
your  visit,  Agnes.  What  do  you  think  of  our  little 
club-room?" 

The  girl  glanced  round  the  apartment  with  dark, 
judging  eyes ;  her  lips  twisted  into  something  between 
a  smile  and  a  sneer. 

' '  Club-room  ? ' '  she  answered  quietly.  ' '  I  guess  we 
call  'em  'dives'  in  my  country;  only  you  go  down  to 
'em  instead  of  up.  What  do  I  think  of  it?  I'll  tell 
you.  Most  girls  would  be  scared  green  at  coming 
to  a  joint  like  this,  and  if  I  were  that  sort  I'd  have 
backed  out  before  ever  I  got  here.  But  understand, 
there's  nothing  doin'  in  the  teeth-chattering  way. 
The  man  don't  live  that  can  scare  me." 

"I  am  sure  of  it,"  smiled  Callaghan,  "and  the  idea 
that  you  could  have  anything  to  fear  here  is  comic. 
We  have  a  business  proposition  to  put  to  you." 

"See  here,"  said  Miss  De  Castra,  "I  know  when 
I'm  up  against  funny  business.  There's  been  hints 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  SUN  265 

enough  slung  out  already  since  I  landed,  and  I  guess 
you  put  up  the  chips  for  my  mother  an'  me  to  come 
over  here.  I'm  wise  to  it  that  there's  more  than  a 
song-and-dance  act  on  the  carpet.  It's  time  to  show 
down  your  hand." 

"You  have  both  intelligence  and  penetration, 
Agnes,"  said  Mr.  Callaghan.  "It  is  a  pleasure  to 
deal  with  you,  and  we  will  get  down  to  bed-rock  with- 
out delay.  Pray  take  this  chair,  and  then  we  can 
talk." 

Agnes  De  Castra  bestowed  her  supple  figure  com- 
fortably in  the  arm-chair  that  was  placed  for  her,  and 
crossed  one  knee  over  the  other. 

"You  are  quite  right,"  said  Mr.  Callaghan,  seating 
himself  opposite  her  by  the  wall  and  beaming  upon 
her  with  the  utmost  benevolence ;  "it  was  not  entirely 
for  the  purpose  of  exploiting  your  doubtless  charming 
voice  on  the  vaudeville  stage  that  certain  friends 
of  mine  brought  you  to  England.  You  seek  what  is 
termed  in  theatrical  circles  a  'shop.'"  He  paused. 
' '  Suppose  now  that  I  can  get  you  one  which  is  worth 
sixty  thousand  pounds  a  year?  There  remains  the 
question  of  terms." 

The  girl  regarded  him  with  a  gleaming  eye. 

"Say,"  she  replied  curtly,  "cut  the  joshing  and 
get  to  business." 

"I  am  entirely  serious,"  said  Mr.  Callaghan 
quietly.  "Empty  jesting  has  no  attractions  for  me. 
I  mean  what  I  say.  To  prove  it,  you  may  draw  on 
me  for  a  thousand  pounds,  if  you  choose,  when  the 
bank  opens  tomorrow."  He  leaned  forward.  "Do 
you  fully  realize,  Agnes,  that  if  I  put  you  in  possession 


266    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

of  wealth  and  a  big  position  a  share  will  be  due  to 
me,  and  a  large  one  ?  And  that  it  would  be  extremely 
unwise  of  you  to  refuse  me  my  due?" 

Agnes  De  Castra  looked  at  him  with  mingled  sul- 
lenness  and  hope. 

"Yes,"  she  answered.  "I  don't  know  what  the 
game  is,  but  if  there's  anything  coming  to  me  I  know 
I'd  have  to  pay  you.  I'll  call  it  a  fourth  share  when 
the  stuff  is  cut  up.  I  won't  haggle  for  less,  but  I'll 
face  any  racket  rather  than  give  more.  That's  my 
say-so,  and  I  stand  to  it.  It  ought  to  be  enough." 

Callaghan  watched  her  intently  for  some  time 
without  speaking.  A  look  of  veiled  satisfaction  came 
into  his  eyes,  and  he  sat  back. 

"I  see  that  we  shall  agree,  Agnes,"  he  said  gently. 
"However,  you  seem  to  think  I  am  exaggerating. 
I  have  a  pleasant  surprise  for  you.  You  never,  I 
think,  knew  your  father?" 

Agnes's  face  hardened  and  a  viperish  gleam  shot 
from  under  her  eyelids. 

"I  never  knew  him.  I  only  knew  his  name,  an' 
that  he  was  English.  My  father  is  dead,  I  reckon. 
Sometimes  I  wish  it  weren't  so.  You'll  notice  we 
don't  use  his  name.  I  could  wish  him  alive,  so  that 
I  might  get  him  all  that's  coming  to  him.  I've  an 
enemy  or  two.  But  there's  nobody  livin'  I've  ever 
hated  as  I  do  that  man  who's  dead." 

"An  unusual  sentiment,  but  natural  under  the  cir- 
cumstances," purred  Mr.  Callaghan.  "It  is  fortu- 
nate then,  from  every  point  of  view,  that  he  is  dead. 
Your  father  in  fact,  were  he  living  at  this  moment, 
would  be  William,  tenth  Viscount  Tallbois  of  Knayth 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  SUN  267 

in  the  peerage  of  England.  You  are  his  first-born 
child;  his  own  legal  heiress.  The  title  and  estates 
are  now  yours." 

In  brief  and  pointed  words  Callaghan  told  her  the 
story.  He  told  it  with  remarkable  skill.  He  omitted 
much,  but  the  major  part  of  what  he  did  tell  her  was 
the  unvarnished  truth. 

The  girl's  face,  as  she  listened,  showed  first  utter 
incredulity  and  then  amazement.  Callaghan's  state- 
ment carried  conviction  with  it.  She  twisted  in  her 
chair,  and  at  the  finish  she  gripped  the  arms  of  it 
convulsively  with  her  supple  fingers.  Her  eyes  shone 
with  a  greed  and  triumph  that  were  scarcely  human. 

"Say!"  she  gasped,  "I  believe  you're  givin'  me 
straight  goods!" 

"What  I  have  told  you  is  plain,  cold  fact,"  replied 
Callaghan. 

"This,"  she  exclaimed  almost  deliriously,  "is  the 
sort  of  thing  I've  sometimes  dreamed  of!  I  have 
mighty  queer  dreams,  don't  I  ?  To  have  hold  of  the 
top  end  of  life — right  here  in  England,  where  these 
things  count !  Money — big  houses — one  of  them  old 
titles — why  it's  the  next  thing  to  being  a  queen! 
Say,  you've  got  a  lead-pipe  cinch  on  it,  have  you? 
You  hold  the  cards?" 

"I  hold  them  all,  and  there  is  no  one  else  who  can 
play  them,"  answered  Callaghan  quietly.  "With  my 
aid  you  come  into  your  own,  and  there  will  be  no 
delay.  You  will  draw  that  thousand  from  me  in  the 
morning?" 

"Yes!"  She  leaped  up,  and  strode  up  and  down 
the  room  once  or  twice,  muttering  to  herself.  She 


268    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

threw  herself  into  the  chair  again,  with  a  low  gurgling 
laugh.  "Lady  Tallbois  of  Knayth— me!"  She 
looked  down  at  herself  and  laughed  again,  but  with 
just  a  trace  of  doubt.  "I  guess  I  can  fill  that  bill!" 

"Doubtless,"  said  Callaghan.  "Yet  remember — 
and  forgive  me  for  speaking  plainly — your  lamented 
father  had  a  police  record  that  must  now  become 
fully  known.  And,"  he  added,  looking  straight  at 
her,  "you  yourself — as  I  happen  to  know — "  He 
left  his  sentence  unfinished. 

The  girl  winced,  and  a  dark  flush  spread  over  her 
cheeks. 

"I  guess  I  can  get  away  with  it,"  she  muttered, 
"when  I've  all  that  money  and  the  handle." 

"You  do  not,  perhaps,  quite  understand  Society," 
said  Callaghan  drily.  "There  are  certain  things  on 
which  it  closes  the  door." 

"I  get  you,"  she  answered  slowly.  "I'm  the  real 
thing,  but  I  want  to  run  with  blood-stock  an'  not 
with  mavericks  from  the  cattle-yard.  There's  a  bit 
of  a  gap,  sure.  Say,  where's  that  smooth  duck  with 
the  nice  hair — that  boy  Harold?  He's  one  of  your 
push,  isn't  he?" 

"Harold  Drummond?"  said  Callaghan  smiling. 
"He  is  not  one  of  us  in  that  sense — he  does  not  mix 
in  such  business  as  this.  Drummond  is,  as  I  was  once 
reminded,  a  gentleman.  He  is  of  as  good  stock  as — 
yourself.  He  has  influence,  and  there  is  not  a  smart 
house  in  London  that  does  not  welcome  him.  I 
acknowledge  him  as  my  superior — in  that  direction." 

The  girl  nodded. 

' '  He's  the  guy  to  steer  me, ' '  she  said.    ' '  I  know  my 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  SUN  269 

limits.  I  want  to  see  more  of  him."  She  rose  to  her 
feet.  "  My,  but  this  thing  is  great !  It's  shaken  me 
like  the  chills-and-fever — I  don't  know  myself.  Let's 
get  on  with  it!  What  of  this  girl  Joan,  that  calls 
herself  Lady  Tallbois?  How's  she  going  to  play  the 
hand?" 

"She  may  fight  you,"  said  Callaghan  warningly. 
"Remember  that  she  is  in  possession;  she  has  power 
— and  money." 

"My  money!  Mine!"  said  the  girl,  almost  with 
a  snarl.  "Gee! — let  her  fight!  That's  a  game  I'm 
wise  to.  I'd  like  it.  Let  her  take  me  on !" 

"On  the  other  hand,  it  is  quite  possible,  and  I 
believe  it  is  the  fact,  that  she  will  throw  her  hand 
down  and  surrender  everything  to  you,  as  soon  as 
she  is  advised  how  she  stands.  There  is  not  much 
else  she  can  do.  In  that  case,"  said  Mr.  Callaghan 
suavely,  ' '  I  am  rather  wondering  what  your  attitude 
will  be !  Whether  you  will  be  inclined  to  share  with 
her — to  give  her,  perhaps,  a  trifle  for  herself?  Eh, 
Lady  Tallbois?  She  is,  I  suppose,  your  sister?" 

The  girl  made  a  sound  like  an  infuriated  she-cat. 
She  glared  at  Callaghan. 

"Sister!"  she  said  fiercely.  "You've  got  your 
nerve  with  you  to  say  that  to  me !  Sister — by  the  left ! 
I'm  what  I  am,  but  I'm  not  as  low  as  she  is!  I'll 
show  her  how  much  sister  she  is  to  me!" 

"I  think  you  are  wise,"  said  Callaghan.  "Half 
measures  are  always  bad  policy.  You  owe  her  noth- 
ing, and  she  has  taken  the  position  that  is  yours  by 
right." 

Agnes  Tallbois  sprang  to  her  feet. 


270    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

"I  hate  the  whole  breed!"  she  cried,  "and  if  she 
stands  down  now  and  falls  for  it,  I  hate  her  the  worse. 
It  shows  the  stuff  she  is!  If  it  wasn't  for  you  I'd 
still  be  in  the  gutter.  There's  no  one  on  earth  will 
ever  make  me  believe  she  didn't  know!  Say,  where 
is  she?  At  this  place — Knayth?" 

"Either  there  or  at  Grosvenor  Square,"  replied 
Callaghan,  "but " 

"Good!  I'll  have  a  word  with  her!"  said  the  girl 
with  extraordinary  relish.  "I'll  show  Lady  Tallbois 
where  she  stands!" 

"Bear  in  mind,"  said  Callaghan,  holding  up  his 
hand,  "that  secrecy  is  necessary  until  we  have  got 
things  going." 

"Leave  me  alone  for  that.  I  know  what  I'm 
doing.  When  can  you  get  them  going  then?" 

"At  once.  Everything  is  ready,  and  there  is  no 
reason  for  delay.  Your  triumph  will  be  rapid." 

"And  you  say  I  can  have  money  now?" 

"At  nine  o'clock  tomorrow — five  thousand  dollars. 
And  now  I  will  bid  you  good-night,  for  there  is  much 
to  do,  and  I  shall  be  very  busy.  In  my  hands  your 
success  is  assured." 

She  held  out  her  slim  brown  hand  frankly  to 
Callaghan. 

"Good-bye,"  she  said,  "you've  done  well  by  me. 
And  I'm  with  you  right  through — for  I  can't  be 
against  you." 

"You  put  the  case  in  a  nutshell,"  replied  Mr.  Cal- 
laghan with  his  most  courtly  bow.  "  Bell,  will  you  be 
good  enough  to  escort  Lady  Tallbois  to  her  mother?  " 

Mr.  Bell,  who  had  been  very  silent  throughout, 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  SUN  271 

led  the  girl  away.  As  soon  as  the  remaining  two 
were  atone,  Callaghan  lay  back  in  his  seat  and 
laughed  appreciatively. 

"Slim  Jim's  daughter,"  he  said,  "the  call  of  the 
blood!  The  thing  could  not  go  better.  She  is  our 
goods.  Well,  she  will  make  a  delightful  peeress.  I 
think  she  may  go  to  Knayth  a  little  too  soon.  Let 
her.  Her  attitude  to  Joan  exactly  suits  my  views. 
For  the  rest,  she  is  a  lady  extremely  capable  of  look- 
ing after  herself.  Let  us  reserve  our  congratulations 
for  our  young  friend  Drummond.  Hand  me  those 
papers,  Vaille,  for  tomorrow  the  Law  will  be  set  in 
motion.  A  subtle  thought  that!  I  have  seldom 
been  an  extremist  for  the  Law." 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE  WAY  OF  THE  WORLD 

THE  mental  suffering  that  can  be  compressed  into 
forty-eight  hours  of  time,  with  no  hand  to  help  and 
no  heart  to  confide  in,  was  a  revelation  to  Joan  Tall- 
bois.  The  period  since  Vaille's  visit  to  her  had  been 
one  long  agony  of  doubt  and  despair,  lit  by  an  occa- 
sional faint  gleam  of  hope. 

She  had  denied  herself  to  everybody,  and  avoided 
even  Lady  Dunluce.  There  was  but  one  living  soul 
to  whom  she  could  tell  her  story  and  appeal  for  the 
truth,  and  he  was  absent,  and  till  now  gave  no  sign. 
On  the  second  morning  a  letter  came  for  her  from 
Philip.  It  only  seemed  to  emphasize  her  loneliness 
and  disappointment: 

HEXTON  MANOR, 
Co.  DURHAM. 

MY  DEAREST  GIRL, — 

You  know  how  sorry  I  am  to  be  parted  from  you  now. 
I  don't  know  when  I  shall  be  able  to  get  away  from  here ; 
a  relative  of  mine  is  very  ill,  and  has  sent  for  me.  But 
I  shall  hope  to  see  you  soon.  Take  care  of  yourself. 

In  haste  to  catch  mail, 

Your  devoted 

PHILIP. 
272 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  WORLD  273 

That  was  all.  Philip  was  never  much  of  a  letter 
writer,  but  for  some  reason  the  note  struck  a  chill 
into  Joan's  heart.  A  sick  relative — it  seemed  the 
baldest  of  excuses.  "Take  care  of  yourself !"  Now, 
when  of  all  times  she  had  the  greatest  need  of  him. 
Did  he  indeed  know  of  the  black  shadow  that  had 
fallen  on  her  life? 

Joan's  fingers  tightened  on  the  letter,  and  a  little 
cry  of  self-reproach  broke  from  her.  Who  was  she, 
to  doubt  Philip?  What  right  had  she  to  question 
his  loyalty? 

"  What  does  it  matter?  What  does  it  matter  now?" 
she  said  despairingly.  "Even  though  his  sense  of 
honour  drives  him  to  stand  by  me,  and  redeem  his 
word — how  could  I  marry  him?  Never,  never!  The 
thing  is  impossible.  I,  who  am  what  I  am !  Not  even 
little  Joan  Ayre,  the  working  girl — but  the  nameless 
child  of  a  thief.  Philip — all  that  is  finished."  A  sob 
rose  in  her  throat.  She  covered  her  face  with  her 
hands.  In  her  heart  was  an  agony  too  deep  for  tears. 

Half  an  hour  later  she  left  the  house  abruptly  and 
went  eastwards  to  the  offices  of  Langley  and  Langley, 
the  solicitors  who  had  acted  for  her  in  the  recent  case. 

Joan  had  to  force  herself  to  take  the  step,  deeply 
distasteful  to  her  as  it  was.  Philip  was  the  one  person 
in  the  world  whom  she  felt  able  to  consult  in  such  a 
matter.  But  she  could  wait  no  longer;  the  suspense 
was  too  great  to  bear.  Perhaps  Mr.  Langley  could 
give  her  some  help,  and  throw  a  light  on  it. 

A  kind  of  terror  seized  her  as  she  reached  the  office; 
how  could  she  broach  the  affair  to  the  solicitor,  and 
what  was  she  to  say  to  him?  However,  she  was 

18 


274    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

spared  the  trouble,  for  she  found  Mr.  Langley  him- 
self looking  particularly  anxious  and  worried. 

"Lady  Tallbois!"  he  exclaimed  as  he  received  her 
in  the  inner  office.  "You  had  my  message  then?  I 
have  just  written  you  a  letter,  and  I  telephoned, 
hoping  to  find  you  in.  I  was  on  the  point  of  starting 
for  your  house." 

Joan  was  about  to  answer  that  she  had  had  no 
message,  but  checked  herself.  Langley  set  a  chair 
for  her,  and  seemed  to  find  some  difficulty  in  beginning. 

"I  have  news  for  you  that  is  not  good,"  he  said. 
"However,  no  doubt  it  will  turn  out  all  right  in  the 
end.  But  I  must  be  quite  frank  with  you.  An 
amazing  thing  has  happened,  and  it  has  made  me 
doubt  my  senses.  Briefly,  a  claimant  has  turned  up 
who  contests  your  rights  to  the  Tallbois  peerage  and 
estates.  As  your  legal  representative  in  the  late  case, 
I  have  received  notice  of  an  action  which  is  to  be 
taken  against  you  at  Law,  claiming  all  those  rights 
which  you  hold.  I  will  explain  it,  and  forgive  me 
if  I  have  to  speak  plainly." 

Haltingly,  and  with  considerable  embarrassment, 
Mr.  Langley  told  her  in  effect  the  story  she  had 
already  heard  from  Vaille.  Indeed  there  was  a  good 
deal  more  in  it  than  that,  but  the  details  did  not 
much  interest  Joan. 

She  heard  Langley's  statement  with  remarkable 
calmness.  The  lawyer,  outwardly  at  least,  was  the 
more  agitated  of  the  two.  Joan  had  never  felt  any 
real  doubt  that  Vaille's  story  was  genuine,  and  this 
confirmation  of  it  found  her  only  too  well  prepared. 
She  was  not  going  to  betray  herself  before  Langley. 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  WORLD  275 

"Now  tell  me,"  she  said  quietly,  when  he  had  fin- 
ished, "what  your  opinion  is.  Can  this  claim  suc- 
ceed? Is  it  not  likely  to  be  fraudulent?" 

"How  can  I  say,"  he  protested,  "till  I  have  the 
full  evidence  before  me?  It  will  be  for  the  courts  to 
decide.  You  will  have  to  defend  the  action." 

"You  must  know  enough  already,"  persisted  Joan, 
"to  say  whether  it  may  succeed  or  not.  I  want  your 
own  view." 

"Frankly,"  he  answered,  after  hesitating,  "I  re- 
gard it  as  most  serious.  I  do  not  mean  that  you  will 
not  win — no,  no.  But — well,  the  claimant  must  have 
a  strong  case.  If  this — this  marriage  of  William 
Tallbois  is  proved — why  there  it  is.  I  find  it  impos- 
sible to  believe  the  claim  is  based  on  a  fraud ;  it  would 
be  so  useless,  and  would  collapse  immediately.  A 
Tichborne  affair  could  not  happen  in  these  days.  Of 
course  the  woman  will  have  to  prove  her  position  to 
the  hUt." 

Joan  looked  at  him  searchingly. 

"Who  is  acting  for  Agnes  De  Castra?"  she  asked. 
She  wondered  if  the  ubiquitous  Vaille  or  Bell  were 
handling  it. 

"A  small  but  respectable  firm  of  solicitors,"  said 
Langley.  "I  believe  an  eminent  counsel  has  been 
briefed.  Now,  Lady  Tallbois,  what  help  can  you 
give  me?  Can  you  throw  any  light  on  the  case?" 

Joan  shook  her  head. 

"It  seems  to  be  a  question,"  she  said,  "simply  of 
whether  Agnes  De  Castra  can  show  proofs  of  her 
identity  and  of — the  marriage.  If  she  can,  she  is 
Lady  Tallbois.  She  has  to  satisfy  the  Law,  I  suppose, 


276    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

that  it  is  true.  If  I  have  the  case  fought  to  the 
knife " 

Mr.  Langley  stared  at  her. 

"  If ?  "  he  said.    "  Of  course  you  will  fight? " 

"Yes,"  said  Joan  slowly,  "even  if  it  is  true,  I  might 
be  able,  perhaps,  to  defeat  it?  I  could  make  it  a 
long  fight,  I  suppose?  There  are  many  obstacles  I 
could  throw  in  the  way.  I  am  in  possession,  and  I 
have  the  money." 

Mr.  Langley  was  about  to  reply,  but  checked  him- 
self and  was  silent.  He  looked  uncomfortable.  Joan, 
with  a  quick  instinct,  saw  what  was  in  his  mind.  She 
had  the  money.  But  if  she  were  defeated  she  would 
have  no  money.  Not  a  penny  of  the  Tallbois  fortune 
would  be  hers  to  pay  with.  She  would  be  a  pauper 
and  a  bankrupt,  already  heavily  in  debt  to  the 
Knayth  estate,  and  accountable  to  it  by  the  Law  for 
all  she  had  taken  out. 

It  looked  to  Joan  decidedly  as  though  Langley  had 
formed  a  stronger  opinion  in  his  own  mind  about  the 
case  than  he  had  told  her.  He  was  a  lawyer,  and  a 
very  shrewd  one.  He  had  his  firm  and  his  reputation 
to  consider.  There  was  a  chance  that  he  might  lose 
heavily,  both  on  past  and  on  future  accounts,  over 
this  affair.  And  he  did  not  know  whether  he  was 
talking  to  Viscountess  Tallbois  of  Knayth  or  a  dis- 
credited nobody.  It  was  very  awkward  for  Mr. 
Langley.  He  was  thinking  not  of  Joan  but  of  him- 
self. It  is  the  way  of  the  world.  Nor  did  it  escape 
for  a  moment  the  girl  who  was  watching  him. 

"Listen,  Mr.  Langley,"  she  said,  with  a  calmness 
that  surprised  him,  "I  will  not  use  the  Tallbois  for- 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  WORLD  277 

tune  in  fighting  this  case.  There  is  strength  enough 
in  the  Law,  I  suppose,  to  protect  me  if  the  claim  is 
false.  But  if  Agnes  De  Castra  can  show  that  she  is 
Lady  Tallbois,  let  her  take  all  that  is  hers."  She 
rose  to  her  feet.  "And  now  tell  me,  has  Mr.  Philip 
Mottisfont  expressed  any  opinion  about  it?" 

"He  can  know  nothing  of  it ! "  said  Langley.  " He 
is  in  the  North,  unable,  I  believe,  to  get  away.  But 
he  must  come  now  at  any  cost !  I  have  written  and 
wired  him  today.  Nothing  can  be  done  till  I  have 
consulted  him.  If  you  will " 

"You  know,"  said  Joan  quietly,  "that  I  am  en- 
gaged to  be  married  to  Mr.  Mottisfont?" 

Mr.  Langley's  pale  face  coloured,  he  did  not  seem 
to  know  which  way  to  look.  Before  he  could  make  a 
conventional  answer,  Joan  held  out  her  hand  to  him. 

"Good-bye,"  she  said  gently,  "and  thank  you  a 
hundred  times  for  all  you  have  done  for  me.  You 
will  not  have  to  do  much  more.  I  will  tell  you  now 
that  I  am  convinced  I  have  no  title  to  Knayth  and 
that  this  girl,  who  is  the  rightful  claimant,  will  take 
all  that  I,  for  a  little  time,  have  held.  Will  you 
please  open  the  door?  I  wish  to  go." 

"But,  Lady  Tallbois,"  exclaimed  Langley,  deeply 
affected,  "your  view  is  quite  wrong!  There  are 
many  things  to  consider.  I  hope — I  believe  firmly — 
that  all  will  yet  be  well.  Wait  until  Mr.  Mottis- 
font  " 

Joan  freed  her  hand  and  escaped  somehow,  a  little 
blindly,  from  the  room.  At  any  rate  she  found  her- 
self in  the  street  without  quite  knowing  how  she  got 
there.  Half  an  hour  later,  after  a  brief  visit  to  a  tele- 


278    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

graph  office,  she  arrived  at  Waterloo  and  took  a 
ticket  to  Clievemead. 

It  seemed  a  lesser  mercy,  after  the  buffets  of  fate, 
that  she  was  able  to  get  a  compartment  to  herself  on 
the  train.  She  felt  as  though  every  wayfarer  in  the 
streets,  every  passer-by  on  the  station  platform, 
were  staring  at  her  as  though  to  say:  "That  is  the 
nameless  woman  who  holds  wealth  and  station  to 
which  she  has  no  right.  The  very  clothes  she  wears 
are  not  her  own.  Soon  honest  folk  will  know  her 
for  what  she  is." 

The  instinct  of  the  wounded  animal  that  shuns 
its  kind  took  possession  of  Joan.  As  the  train  moved 
out  she  lay  back  with  a  little  sigh,  and  pressed  a 
hand  to  her  burning  temples. 

"There  is  but  one  thing  to  be  done,"  she  said  to 
herself;  "only  one  thing  now!  To  hide  myself — to 
get  away  from  it  all.  I  cannot  face  what  is  coming. 
Kinder  to  Philip — yes,  and  best  for  me.  I  know  what 
I  shall  do." 

It  was  necessary  to  go  to  Knayth,  in  any  case. 
And  a  faint  hope  was  at  the  bottom  of  her  mind  that 
there  might  be  a  letter  there  from  Philip,  which  she 
had  missed  in  town.  The  train  was  a  fast  one.  When 
she  stepped  down  at  Clievemead  station,  porters  and 
station  master  saluted  her  respectfully — an  added 
mockery. 

The  car  for  which  she  had  telegraphed  was  at  the 
station.  The  two  miles  were  swiftly  covered,  and 
the  Rolls-Royce  hummed  gently  up  the  steep  rise  to 
the  Abbey. 

Never  had  Knayth  looked  more  peaceful  and  lovely 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  WORLD  279 

than  now,  in  the  deep  gold  of  the  setting  sun.  Sorrow 
and  strife  and  tears  seemed  utterly  foreign  to  it.  As 
Joan  descended  from  the  car,  John  Goodenough  came 
down  the  steps  to  take  her  wraps. 

He  was  struck  by  the  pallor  of  his  young  mistress, 
and  the  dark  shadows  beneath  her  eyes.  A  keen 
anxiety  peeped  through  the  impassive  mask  of  his 
features. 

"Are  there  any  letters  for  me?  "  she  asked  listlessly. 

"There  are  three  in  the  morning-room,  m'lady, 
that  came  this  morning." 

Joan  hurried  to  the  room.  A  glance  at  the  envel- 
opes was  enough;  there  was  no  letter  from  Philip. 
Why  should  there  be?  She  tore  the  letters  open, 
glanced  at  them,  and  tossed  them  aside. 

"It  is  just  as  well,"  murmured  Joan. 

After  a  few  minutes'  thought  she  sat  down  at  the 
desk  and  began  to  write  a  letter — not  to  Philip,  but 
to  Lady  Dunluce.  It  appeared  her  duty.  The  old 
lady  had  been  more  than  kind  to  her.  A  mist  swam 
before  Joan's  eyes  as  she  wrote,  and  a  tear  dropped 
on  the  paper.  She  closed  the  envelope  with  an  un- 
steady hand  and  went  out  to  drop  it  in  the  mail  box 
in  the  hall. 

A  harsh,  incisive  voice  struck  on  Joan's  ear;  an 
accent  that  recalled  memories  of  earlier  days.  She 
looked  round.  John  Goodenough  was  answering  a 
caller  who  stood  in  the  porch. 

"I  will  enquire  if  Lady  Tallbois  is  at  home,"  said 
the  footman  with  dignity  and  a  touch  of  hauteur. 
"What  name  shall  I  say?" 

Joan  looked  at  the  dark,  graceful  girl  in  the  porch, 


280    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

who  was  staring  at  the  footman  with  defiant  eyes. 
Her  garish,  tawdry  dress  contrasted  oddly  with  the 
mellow  colours  of  the  Abbey  hall.  With  an  instant 
flash  of  intuition  Joan  guessed  who  this  stranger  was, 
and  before  the  girl  could  answer  she  stepped  forward. 

"I  am  Lady  Tallbois,"  said  Joan.  "You  wish  to 
see  me?" 

"  I  guess  that's  what  I'm  here  for ! "  said  the  visitor. 

"Come  this  way,"  answered  Joan,  and  she  walked 
towards  the  morning-room.  Goodenough's  eyes  fol- 
lowed the  two  girls  with  a  puzzled  stare  as  they  dis- 
appeared into  the  room. 

Joan  walked  to  the  far  end  of  the  apartment,  away 
from  door  and  windows,  and,  turning,  motioned  her 
visitor  courteously  to  a  chair.  The  girl  took  no 
notice.  For  a  few  moments  they  faced  each  other 
in  silence;  the  stranger  scanned  Joan's  dress  and 
face,  looking  her  over  from  head  to  shoes,  and  her 
lips  curled  in  a  sneer. 

"Who  did  you  say  you  were?"  she  asked. 

"I  am  Joan  Tallbois,"  was  the  quiet  reply. 

The  girl  put  a  hand  on  the  table  and  leaned  for- 
ward, staring  at  Joan.  There  was  an  odd,  almost 
serpentine  suggestion  in  her  attitude.  Her  eyes 
flashed  threateningly. 

"You  claim  that  name,  do  you?"  she  said,  and 
her  voice  broke  suddenly  into  a  fluent,  jeering  laugh. 
"I  am  Viscountess  Tallbois!  Do  you  get  me?" 


Joan  tried  to  answer,  but  the  words  died  in  her 
throat.    She  looked  at  Agnes  De  Castra  with  a  dumb 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  WORLD  281 

appeal,  that  seemed  to  seek  in  the  girl's  eyes  for  the 
least  hint  of  sympathy  or  friendliness.  All  that  Joan 
could  see  in  the  attitude  of  Agnes  was  a  hard  vindic- 
tiveness  that  amazed  her — a  sense  of  vulgar  triumph. 

"You  are  Agnes  De  Castra?"  said  Joan  haltingly, 
"if  the  story  I  have  heard  is  true — and  I  do  not 
doubt  it — then  certainly  you  are  Lady  Tallbois.  It 
was  only  made  clear  to  me  today." 

"Forget  it!"  replied  Agnes,  swift  as  a  whip-lash. 
' '  Do  you  think  you  can  play  me  for  a  sucker  ?  You've 
been  wise  to  it  from  the  first ! " 

Joan  shrank  back  as  if  she  had  been  struck  in  the 
face.  Aghast,  she  stared  at  Agnes,  her  eyes  travelling 
from  the  venomously  beautiful  features  of  the  girl, 
flushed  and  dark,  to  the  twitching  hand  that  rested 
on  the  table,  and  its  tinted  finger-nails. 

Joan  meant  nothing  by  the  look ;  she  hardly  knew 
what  she  was  doing.  But  it  stirred  Agnes  to  an 
uncontrollable  fury. 

"Listen,  you!"  she  cried,  coming  close  and  thrust- 
ing her  face  into  Joan's.  "Maybe  we  both  have 
thieves'  blood  in  us,  but  you've  got  the  habit,  and 
I've  not!  I  only  take  what's  my  own!  This  swell 
house  you're  strutting  in  is  mine — the  clothes  you're 
wearin'  are  mine.  Got  that?" 

Joan  was  deadly  pale. 

"You  don't  even  put  up  a  bluff,  eh!"  said  Agnes 
with  biting  contempt.  "No,  because  you  know  the 
game's  lost.  You  haven't  got  the  sand  for  a  rough- 
house!  It's  well  for  me  I've  got  the  proofs,  or  you'd 
have  handed  me  the  ice-bowl  mighty  quick.  Yes, 
you  could  sit  tight  and  rake  in  the  chips  while  you 


282    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

thought  I  was  out  of  it.  But  when  your  hand's 
called  you  throw  down !  Lucky  for  me  that  I  have 
good  friends.  This  is  where  you  quit!" 

It  seemed  to  Joan  at  that  moment  as  though  the 
blood  in  her  veins  had  turned  to  ice.  It  had  been 
in  her  mind  to  warn  Agnes  what  she  might  have  to 
expect  from  her  "friends,"  as  she  termed  Vaille  and 
Bell.  For  Joan  believed  that  she  recognized  clearly 
the  handiwork  of  these  men  behind  it  all.  One  touch 
of  pity,  of  gentleness  in  her  rival,  and  she  would  have 
uttered  the  warning. 

But  Joan  was  no  more  than  human.  A  bitterness 
hardly  less  intense  than  that  of  Agnes  welled  up  in 
her  heart  when  she  reflected  that  this  vitriol-tongued 
girl  was  robbing  her  of  all  she  had — happiness,  love, 
the  hope  of  life.  And  she  left  the  word  unspoken. 

"You  have  the  proofs,  you  say,"  she  replied  very 
quietly.  "You  have  but  to  make  them  good  in  a 
court  of  law.  When  that  is  done — and  not  before — 
you  will  be  mistress  here." 

Agnes  appeared  staggered  by  Joan's  self-command 
at  such  a  moment.  A  sense  of  inferiority  goaded  her 
afresh. 

"Yes!"  she  hissed.  "You're  boss  here  now,  ain't 
you?  You'd  call  in  that  big  flunkey  from  the  hall, 
if  you  dared,  an'  have  me  thrown  out.  But  I'm  the 
goods,  and  in  a  week  all  the  world  will  know  it.  Your 
day's  done — get  back  in  the  gutter  where  you 
belong!" 

She  turned  with  a  whisk  of  her  skirts,  and  laughing 
triumphantly,  strode  out  through  the  open  window 
onto  the  lawn.  She  made  her  way  across  to  the  park 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  WORLD  283 

road,  turning  back  twice  to  look  at  the  great  house, 
and  again  Joan  heard  her  laugh.  Then  she  passed 
out  of  sight. 

For  a  while  Joan  stood  motionless  by  the  window. 
Her  teeth  were  set  tight;  a  sudden  gust  of  passion 
shook  her.  But  she  was  thankful  not  to  have  be- 
trayed herself  before  Agnes.  The  whole  incident 
seemed  like  a  nightmare. 

Her  hands  fell  to  her  sides  with  a  gesture  of  aban- 
donment. 

"What  does  it  matter  now?"  she  said  under  her 
breath.  "It  will  be  all  like  that.  I  will  not  stay 
and  see  it  through." 

Joan  went  up  to  her  room,  the  great  south  room 
with  the  rose  silk  curtains,  and  locked  herself  in. 

Half  an  hour  later  she  came  down  the  stairs  wear- 
ing the  little  plain  linen  frock  in  which  she  had  first 
come  to  Clievemead.  It  was  the  only  dress  she 
owned  that  had  not  been  bought  with  Tallbois 
money.  In  the  hall  she  encountered  John  Good- 
enough.  Her  appearance  startled  him. 

"Has  your  visitor  left,  m'lady?"  he  asked.  Obvi- 
ously he  had  missed  Agnes's  departure. 

"Yes,"  replied  Joan  mechanically,  "and  I  am 
going,  too." 

"Shall  I  order  the  car?"  he  enquired,  his  eyes 
searching  her  face. 

"No,  I  shall  not  want  the  car,"  said  Joan.  She 
glanced  up  at  him.  "You  have  been  happy  here, 
have  you  not,  Goodenough  ?  I  am  glad  of  that.  You 
will  not  wish  to  leave  Knayth." 

He  came  closer. 


284    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

"Is  anything  wrong,  m'lady?"  he  said  in  a  lower 
voice. 

"I  think,"  answered  Joan  dully,  "that  nothing 
has  ever  been  right."  She  did  not  look  at  him,  and 
was  hardly  conscious  of  what  she  was  saying. 

For  once  Goodenough  seemed  puzzled  and  at  a 
loss.  There  was  an  anxious  look  in  his  eyes. 

"If  your  ladyship  would  confide  in  me,"  he  said 
almost  under  his  breath,  "I  might  be  able  to  help 
you." 

Joan  started  slightly,  and  looked  into  his  face. 
It  was  a  strange  offer  for  a  footman  to  make,  yet  she 
did  not  feel  it  so,  much  less  resent  it.  This  tall, 
grave  man,  with  his  compelling  eyes,  always  had  an 
odd  effect  on  her — as  though  to  him  it  was  given  to 
command,  rather  than  to  her. 

And  intuitively  she  felt  that  there  was  something 
behind  his  request;  that  a  still  more  poignant  ex- 
perience awaited  her  than  that  which  she  had  just 
passed  through.  What  it  might  be  she  could  not 
guess;  she  only  felt  herself  shrinking  from  it.  Joan 
had  borne  all  she  could. 

"Is  there  nothing  I  can  do  for  your  ladyship?" 
he  persisted. 

"Yes,"  answered  Joan,  "in  my  boudoir  on  the  sofa 
are  a  few  things  I  have  put  together.  You  might 
put  those  in  a  bag  you  will  find  there  and  bring  them 
down." 

Goodenough  hesitated,  then  bowed  and  left  to 
execute  the  order.  He  apparently  did  not  realize  that 
it  was  only  given  to  get  rid  of  him.  By  that  simple 
expedient  Joan  found  herself  alone,  and  returning 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  WORLD  285 

to  the  great  dining-hall  she  gave  one  last  glance 
round  her,  raised  her  eyes  to  the  jewelled  Goblet  in 
its  recess  in  the  wall  and  passed  quietly  out  onto  the 
lawn.  She  passed  through  the  water-garden,  and 
hurried  along  the  farther  slope. 

Farewell  to  Knayth!  Her  one  obsession  was  to 
get  away,  quietly  and  unseen.  Let  those  who  re- 
mained read  the  riddle  if  they  chose.  Joan's  heart 
beat  rapidly  as  she  flitted  through  the  plantation. 

Suddenly  Joan  stopped.  She  had  forgotten  some- 
thing. Turning  back  she  passed  round  by  the  cedars 
and  reached  the  aviary  under  the  west  colonnade. 

Jack  Quicksilver,  the  homing  pigeon,  sat  on  the 
perch  preening  himself  before  settling  down  for  the 
night.  He  turned  his  expressive  eye  on  Joan  and 
crooned  pleasantly  as  if  in  welcome. 

"Jack!"  she  said  chokily.  "I  can't  leave  you 
here — for  those  who  are  to  take  my  place !  You  are 
the  only  thing  that  belongs  to  me." 

She  opened  the  aviary  door;  Jack  flew  down  as 
she  did  so.  He  allowed  her  to  pick  him  up  without 
protest.  Joan  held  him  against  her  bosom,  his  soft 
head  touching  her  chin.  Her  eyes  were  misty. 

"You  were  an  honest  man's  gift,  Jack,"  she  said. 

For  a  moment  she  reflected.  Was  it  best  to  free 
him,  and  let  him  wing  his  way  home? 

"Choose,  Jack!"  she  said,  and  opening  her  hand,, 
allowed  him  to  stand  on  it.  The  pigeon  rose  at  once, 
with  a  joyous  clap  of  his  wings,  and  made  a  wide 
circuit  in  the  air.  He  returned,  and  settled  quietly 
on  her  shoulder. 

"What,  will  you  share  my  lot,  Jack?"  she  said 


286    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

with  a  tremulous  laugh.  "It  may  be  a  hard  life. 
Come,  then." 

The  wicker  cage  in  which  Jack  had  come  to  Knayth 
hung  on  a  hook  near  by.  She  took  it  down  and 
placed  the  pigeon  inside.  Jack  shook  his  feathers, 
settling  down  quite  contentedly.  Joan  left  the  col- 
onnade, and  seeing  one  of  the  gardners  approaching, 
hid  herself  behind  a  cedar.  When  the  coast  was  clear 
she  hurried  through  the  shrubberies  and  made  a 
detour  to  the  park  entrance. 

Thence  Joan  passed  out  between  the  great  pillars 
with  their  wyvern  crests,  and  out  onto  the  highroad — 
a  forlorn  little  figure  in  cheap  linen,  trudging  down 
the  hill,  the  bird  cage  swinging  at  her  side. 


It  was  late  when  Joan  stumbled  wearily  up  the 
dark  staircase  in  Firr  Road,  Lambeth,  and  gave  a 
timid  little  knock  on  the  door,  under  which  shone  a 
gleam  of  light.  She  was  not  even  sure  if  she  would 
find  what  she  sought.  But  a  well-known  voice 
answered,  and  Joan  turned  the  handle. 

Emmie  Clegg  stood  by  the  dressing-table,  her  fiery 
red  hair  loose  and  flowing  over  her  shoulders.  She 
gave  a  cry  of  amazement  on  recognizing  her  visitor. 

"Joan!  Is  this  you?"  Emmie  stepped  forward 
and  stared  blankly.  "Why,  what  have  you  been 
doin'  to  yourself!" 

Joan  set  down  the  cage.  She  was  trembling 
slightly,  and  she  looked  pitifully  at  Emmie. 

"I've  come  back,"  she  said  in  a  scarcely  audible 
voice.  "I — I  thought  you  would  give  me  shelter 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  WORLD  287 

tonight,  Emmie.  I  haven't  anywhere  else  to  go. 
And— and " 

"But  for  mercy's  sake,  what's  wrong?"  cried 
Emmie  shrilly. 

In  a  few  faltering  sentences,  Joan  told  her  story. 
So  disconnected  was  it  that  at  first  Emmie  thought 
she  was  out  of  her  mind,  but  soon  the  keen-witted 
little  listener  caught  the  gist  of  it,  and  understood. 
Joan  tried  to  continue,  but  suddenly  she  checked 
herself,  swayed  blindly,  and  broke  into  a  wild  storm 
of  tears. 

In  a  moment  two  stout  arms  were  round  her. 
Emmie  sank  into  a  chair  and  held  the  sobbing  girl 
to  her  bosom. 

"They've  done  you  down,  have  they?"  said  Em- 
mie thickly.  "  They've  taken  all  you  had.  It's  like 
'em!  You're  safe  with  me,  Joan.  There's  always 
shelter  for  you  here.  Joan — my  little  Joan — you've 
come  back  to  me!  Don't  cry  like  that — dear  little 
Joan,  don't  cry!" 

She  soothed  Joan  as  a  mother  soothes  a  child.  A 
lump  rose  in  her  throat  as  she  felt  the  girl's  quivering 
agony  grow  less,  and  the  slim  body  became  limp  in 
her  arms. 

"Try  not  to  think  of  it,  Joan,"  said  Emmie  softly. 
"Cross  it  all  out — it's  finished!  I'll  look  after  you, 
dear.  You're  with  friends  now.  Lord  help  'em  if 
they  ever  meddle  with  you  when  I'm  around!" 

A  thought  came  into  her  mind,  and  her  face  dark- 
ened. 

"Wasn't  there  one  to  stand  by  you,  Joan?"  she 
whispered.  "Not  even  one?" 


288    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

Joan  lifted  her  head  and  looked  up.  She  tried  to 
speak,  but  no  words  would  come,  and  she  hid  her 
face  again  on  Emmie's  breast.  And  Emmie  under- 
stood ;  with  inborn  tact  she  f  orebore  to  put  the  ques- 
tion that  was  upon  her  lips.  Indeed,  she  did  not 
think  it  worth  asking. 

"Swells!"  whispered  Emmie,  staring  before  her 
with  extraordinary  virulence.  "To  hell  with  them 
all!" 

Joan  remained  motionless;  she  seemed  to  have 
sunk  into  a  trance  of  complete  exhaustion.  With 
deft  fingers  Emmie  undressed  her,  and  put  her  to 
bed  as  if  she  had  been  a  baby.  For  a  long  while 
Emmie  sat  watching  over  the  tired  face  on  the  pillow, 
till  the  candle  flickered  low. 

"So  Mister  Philip  Mottisfont  stands  down?" 
murmured  Emmie.  "And  well  for  her !" 

She  crossed  to  the  table,  and  twisted  her  red  hair 
into  a  coarse  plait. 

"I  think,"  she  said  between  her  teeth,  "I  can  get 
a  little  bit  back  for  Joan,  here!" 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

MOTTISFONT  PLEADS  GUILTY 

THREE  days  later  Joan  sat  by  the  window  of  the 
dingy  room  that  was  her  refuge  from  the  world. 
The  world  that  had  become  a  desert,  since  the  man 
she  loved  was  blotted  out  of  her  life.  Joan  felt  that 
her  heart  was  dead. 

Her  only  company  was  the  homing  pigeon,  whose 
cage  hung  in  a  ray  of  sunlight.  For  an  hour  Joan 
had  remained  there;  her  face  of  a  transparent  pallor, 
her  eyes  large  and  luminous.  She  had  touched  the 
uttermost  depths  of  suffering. 

There  came  a  step  outside,  and  a  soft  tap  at  the  door. 

"Come  in,"  said  Joan  faintly.  She  expected 
Emmie.  But  Emmie  would  not  rap,  and  it  was  not 
her  step.  Joan  turned,  and  a  stifled  cry  broke  from 
her.  The  colour  flamed  to  her  face. 

"Philip!"  she  said  breathlessly.      "You!" 

Mottisfont  stood  before  her.  He  had  closed  the 
door,  and  stood  with  his  back  to  it.  His  tall  figure 
dominated  the  room.  It  seemed  to  Joan  that  the 
sun  ray  grew  brighter,  lighting  up  his  face  and  shining 
full  upon  him.  He  looked  at  Joan  in  silence. 

"How  did  you  find  me?"  she  said  trembling;  and 
then  with  a  little  cry :  "  Philip,  is  there  hope  for  me, 
then?  Is  all  that  dreadful  story  false?" 

289 


290   THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

"Your  claim  upon  Knayth?"  he  said  very  quietly. 
"Is  that  what  you  are  thinking  of,  Joan?  You  had 
best  hear  the  truth,  once  and  for  all,  for  it  is  kindest 
that  you  should  know.  You  have  no  chance. 
Neither  the  money  nor  the  title  can  be  yours.  But 
what  of  it,  Joan?  You  had  not  them  when  first  I 
knew  you." 

Two  swift  steps  and  he  had  her  in  his  arms.  His 
lips  were  pressed  to  her  forehead,  and  he  held  her  close. 

"Joan,  my  little  Joan!"  he  whispered  brokenly, 
"has  it  been  very  hard?  Dear,  I  would  have  given 
my  soul  if  you  could  have  been  spared  all  this  agony ! " 
His  arms  tightened,  and  his  voice  grew  deep  and 
strong.  "Courage,  Joan!  You  are  stainless — blame- 
less— your  own  dear  self.  Never  think  of  what  you 
have  lost!  What  is  it,  after  all?" 

She  tried  to  free  herself. 

"  I  have  only  one  loss,"  she  said  piteously.  "You ! 
Why  did  you  come  here,  Philip?  Ah,  you  are  gene- 
rous! But  it  is  your  sense  of  honour  that  brings 
you." 

"Honour!"  he  said,  and  to  her  amazement  she 
heard  him  laugh  aloud. 

"Do  you  know  what  I  am?"  she  whispered. 

"The  girl  I  love!" 

There  was  a  moment  of  absolute  silence.  Then 
Joan  gave  a  great  sob,  and  tearing  herself  free,  stared 
at  him,  wild-eyed. 

"Philip,  do  you  mean  that?"  she  panted.  "It  is 
all  ended!  Did  you  dream,  after  what  has  happened 
to  me,  that  I  would  consent  to  hold  you  to  your 
word?" 


MOTTISFONT  PLEADS  GUILTY       291 

"I  don't  know  what  you  consent  to,"  he  answered. 
"I  only  know  that  I  shall  hold  you  to  yours!"  He 
took  her  in  his  arms  again  so  fiercely  that  she  could 
not  resist.  "There  is  only  one  thing  on  earth  could 
make  me  give  you  up — that  you  had  ceased  to  love 
me.  Look  up  at  me,  Joan!" 

He  raised  her  face  gently,  and  looked  into  her  eyes. 

1 '  You  love  me,  Joan.  Your  eyes — your  dear  eyes — 
cannot  lie.  And  I  love  you — you  are  mine  to  all 
eternity."  There  was  a  quiet  force  in  his  voice,  a 
power  that  overbore  all  denial.  "Dear,  before  three 
days  are  past,  we  shall  be  married." 

He  felt  her  trembling.  She  saw  such  a  splendour 
and  tenderness  in  Philip's  eyes  as  she  had  never 
dreamed  of.  He  was  a  man  transformed. 

"You  have  doubted  me!"  he  whispered,  and  a 
shadow  of  pain  darkened  his  face.  He  seated  himself 
and  drew  her  down  gently  beside  him. 

"Joan,"  he  said  humbly,  "I  deserved  it.  I  think 
that  was  the  kind  of  brute  I  was — before  I  knew  you 
for  what  you  are.  Dearest  in  the  world,  did  I  ever 
chatter  to  you  of  fame,  and  money,  and  power  as  the 
one  goal?  You  have  taught  me  better;  you  have 
shown  me  the  honour  a  woman's  love  is  to  a  man — 
you,  the  dearest  of  all  women.  Joan,  you  are  God's 
gift  tome!" 

With  a  sudden  movement  of  abandon,  Joan  slipped 
to  the  floor  at  his  feet  and  buried  her  head  on  his 
knees,  her  hands  hiding  her  face.  She  broke  into  a 
passion  of  weeping. 

"Oh,  I  am  shamed!"  she  whispered.  "I  thought 
— I  thought  you  cared  because — I  was  rich.  Philip, 


292    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

my  darling — my  lover.  Oh,  I  am  shamed  to  my 
soul!" 

He  caught  her  up  swiftly,  and  held  her  tight. 

"Joan!  Don't  do  that!"  he  gasped.  "It  hurts 
like  a  knife.  You  are  too  far  above  me,  dear. 
If  there  are  reproaches,  let  them  fall  on  me.  My 
shoulders  are  the  broader.  There  is  only  one  thing 
I  cannot  bear — that  you  should  think  I  held  aloof 
when  you  were  in  trouble.  I  was  at  the  death- 
bed of  my  only  kinsman,  Joan;  and  I  left  him  un- 
buried  when  Langley's  wire  brought  me  the  news. 
Enough  of  that.  I  know  why  you  left  Knayth.  But 
I  have  found  you,  and  I  will  never  let  you  go." 

"Philip,"  she  whispered.    "Philip  .    .    .  " 

"Three  days  from  now!"  he  said.  "Saturday — 
and  the  time  ten.  How  slow  these  wretched  laws 
are — if  I  had  my  way  it  should  be  in  an  hour's  time ! 
On  Saturday  we  shall  be  married.  Why!"  he  said 
joyously,  "it's  three  days  ahead  of  the  time  we  fixed 
before — we  gain  three  days!" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"You  are  mad,  Philip,"  she  whispered.  "It  can't 
be.  I'm  not  going  to  spoil  your  life." 

"I  haven't  the  slightest  intention  of  letting  you 
try."  He  took  her  hands  in  his,  and  stood  back. 

* ' Listen, ' '  he  said  firmly.  "  I'm  taking  this  matter 
in  hand,  Joan,  and  you,  too.  You've  nothing  to  do, 
nothing  to  say,  nothing  to  think  about.  On  Saturday 
you  will  be  my  wife.  Then  it  will  be  your  turn  to 
command." 

She  looked  at  him  silently,  her  breast  heaving,  and 
then  bowed  her  head. 


MOTTISFONT  PLEADS  GUILTY       293 

"That  is  settled,"  he  said  quietly.  "In  the  mean- 
time, Joan,  you  cannot  be  left  alone.  Come  with  me 
to  Lady  Dunluce;  she  will  take  care  of  you.  She's 
distracted  at  losing  you.  You  can " 

"No!"  cried  Joan  swiftly.  "Not  that,  Philip.  I 
cannot!  I  will  never  see  any  of  those  people  again. 
That  is  all  finished.  I  will  not  go." 

"It  is  a  pity  you  feel  like  that,"  he  said  quietly. 
Philip  glanced  round  the  room.  "Well,  these  are 
poor  quarters,  but  honest  and  sound.  It's  Emma 
Clegg's  place,  isn't  it  ?  You'll  be  safe  with  her !  Yes, 
she'll  look  after  you — you  couldn't  have  a  better 
guardian  than  that  little  firebrand  of  a  girl.  A  rare 
watch-dog ! ' '  He  laughed  softly. 

"Yes.  I'd  rather  stay,  Philip,"  she  said  under  her 
breath. 

"Darling,  are  you  happier  now?"  he  whispered, 
drawing  her  to  him.  "My  love!" 

"My  darling!"  she  murmured.  "Philip!"  Joan 
gave  a  little  sob  of  mingled  happiness  and  pain. 
Her  heart  beat  wildly;  she  strove  to  speak,  but  the 
thing  she  wished  to  say  would  not  pass  her  lips.  She 
could  not  force  her  tongue  to  utter  it.  It  remained 
unspoken. 

Very  tenderly  he  comforted  her.  The  charm  of 
his  voice,  the  joy  and  pride  in  his  eyes,  the  gentleness 
of  his  caress,  soothed  the  storm  in  her  heart.  She 
lay  quite  quietly  in  his  arms. 

"I  must  go,"  he  whispered  at  last,  "and  prepare. 
Things  must  be  done  at  once  or  there  will  be  delay, 
and  I  will  not  risk  delay.  Not  an  hour!  Good-bye, 
dearest;  it  will  not  be  for  long." 


294    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

He  was  moving  to  the  door,  when  Joan  sprang  up 
and  held  out  her  arms. 

"Once  more!"  she  said  wildly.  "Kiss  me  once 
more,  Philip,  before  you  go!" 

He  returned  and  pressed  his  lips  to  hers.  But  there 
was  so  strange  an  air  about  Joan  at  that  moment 
that,  as  he  released  her,  Philip  gazed  at  her  keenly. 

"Remember,  Joan,  you  are  mine,  and  no  power 
can  take  you  from  me.  Were  you  at  the  uttermost 
ends  of  the  earth  I  would  find  and  claim  you.  And 
that  I  swear  by  my  soul." 

He  kissed  her  gently  on  the  forehead,  and  left  the 
room  without  another  word.  He  went  rapidly  down 
the  dingy  staircase,  and  had  just  passed  through  the 
stone-paved  hall  into  the  street,  when  he  nearly 
collided  with  a  girl  who  was  on  the  point  of  entering. 

It  was  Emmie  Clegg. 

She  gave  a  little  gasp,  stopped  dead,  and  licked 
her  lips.  Mottisfont  stopped,  too.  The  girl's  eyes 
blazed  at  him. 

"Gaw!"  she  said  thickly. "  "You!    You— here!" 

She  raised  her  freckled  fist  as  if  to  strike  him  across 
the  mouth. 

"You  been  messin'  about  with  Joan!" 

Philip  looked  at  the  lady  with  interest. 

"Joan  and  I,"  he  said  in  matter-of-fact  tones, 
"have  just  been  settling  about  our  marriage.  We 
have  had  to  put  the  date  forward  a  little." 

"Your  what!"  gasped  Emmie.  She  felt  as  though 
the  pavement  were  spinning  round. 

"Come  in  here,"  he  said,  taking  hold  of  her  by 
the  arm.  "I  have  a  word  to  say  to  you." 


MOTTISFONT  PLEADS  GUILTY       295 

He  led  her,  unresisting,  into  the  hall.  Emmie  had 
received  a  shock  that,  for  a  moment,  stopped  even 
her  fluent  powers  of  speech. 

"Look  here,"  he  said,  "you  have  heart  and  cour- 
age; you're  a  sound  friend  to  Joan,  or  she  would 
never  have  run  to  you  like  this  when  trouble  came  to 
her.  This  is  a  time  when  Joan  needs  a  woman  by 
her.  I  want  you  to  look  after  her  and  guard  her 
as  a  sheep-dog  guards  a  fold.  It's  only  for  three 
days." 

Emmie  looked  at  him  with  smouldering  eyes. 

"I  see,"  she  said  slowly.  "Then  it's  all  a  snide 
story  she's  got  hold  of!  She's  the  goods  after  all — 
the  money  an'  the  title  are  all  right.  I  see.  Now 
listen  here ' 

"She  has  less  than  nothing,"  said  Philip.  "The 
story  is  true.  Joan  has  lost  a  lot  of  things  that  do 
not  matter.  But  she  cannot  go  back  to — her  own 
people.  Mark  what  I  say — it  is  your  task  to  see 
that  she  does  not  fret  about  that.  Ensure,  above 
everything,  that  she  does  nothing  foolish,  for  she  is 
scarcely  answerable  for  herself  just  now.  On  Satur- 
day, at  ten  in  the  morning,  we  shall  be  married." 

Emmie  made  an  inarticulate  noise  in  her  throat. 

"Married!  To  you!"  she  said  with  inexpressible 
unbelief  and  contempt.  "When  she's  not  only  a 
beggar.  She's  a— 

There  was  a  flash  of  anger  in  Philip's  eyes  that 
checked  her. 

"You'll  marry  her?"  she  gasped.  "You?  An'  be 
turned  down  by  all  your — toffs!  It  ain't  in  you! 
Lose  your  job  of  work,  everything  you  was  after — 


296    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

an'  your  money?  She  owes  thousands  to  that  rotten 
peerage — I've  heard  it  from  her.  You " 

"  Leave  all  that  out  ! "  he  said  roughly.  "  It 
does  not  concern  us.  Joan  honours  me  by  giv- 
ing me  her  hand."  His  voice  softened.  "I  am 
going  to  try  and  make  her  happy.  I  want  your 
help." 

Emmie  caught  her  breath.  She  came  nearer,  her 
eyes  searching  his  face  with  a  fierce  eagerness.  What 
she  saw  caused  her  to  step  back,  almost  in  awe.  A 
little  sigh  escaped  her. 

"She's  safe,"  she  thought.    "Joan  wins!" 

"You  love  Joan?"  said  Philip  quietly. 

Emmie's  eye-lashes  became  wet. 

"Love  her?  She's  the  only  gal  I  ever  cared  a 
straw  for !  Love  her  ? ' ' 

"I  knew  it.  There  is  no  one  worth  a  straw  who 
would  not  love  her.  Are  you  married  yet?" 

"No,"  said  Emmie  mechanically.    "Next  week." 

"Good.    You  shall  be  her  bridesmaid." 

The  girl  gave  a  faint  gasp. 

"Remember,"  he  said  gently,  putting  a  hand  on 
her  shoulder,  "be  very  kind  to  her.  But  don't  go 
to  her  now.  She  is  upset,  and  overwrought;  give 
her  an  hour  to  herself." 

He  stepped  back. 

"Till  Saturday.    But  I  shall  see  you  before  then." 

He  raised  his  hat  courteously  to  Emmie,  and  left 
the  house. 

Emmie  ran  to  the  open  door.  In  utter  bedazement 
she  watched  Philip's  tall  figure  striding  away  down 
the  street. 


MOTTISFONT  PLEADS  GUILTY       297 

Joan  returned  to  her  seat  at  the  window  and  tried 
to  still  the  beating  of  her  heart.  She  felt  as  though 
one  vivid,  glorious  ray  of  light  and  love  had  flashed 
across  her  world,  fading  to  leave  behind  a  darkness 
blacker  than  before — a  very  pit  of  despair. 

Right  or  wrong,  she  had  convinced  herself  where 
the  path  of  duty  lay.  Finally  and  utterly  impossible 
was  her  marriage  with  Philip.  She  was  amazed  that 
he  had  not  understood  her;  that  he  took  it  for  granted 
that  she  would  marry  him. 

"Never,  never!"  she  said  aloud.  "It  shall  not 
be — on  that  one  thing  I  am  determined.  Nothing 
shall  shake  me.  But  oh!  I  could  not  tell  him  so — 
the  strength  was  not  in  me  to  do  it.  His  touch — his 
eyes  looking  into  mine.  What  could  I  say?  He 
would  not  have  listened." 

A  passion  of  self-abasement  seized  her. 

"How  could  I  wreck  his  life?  Drag  him  down  to 
the  depths  where  I  have  fallen!" 

She  seemed  to  hear  the  mocking  laughter  of  the 
world,  the  sneers  of  the  great  army  of  Philistines,  the 
veiled  jibes  of  women,  and  the  contemptuous  pity. 
Justice  or  injustice  did  not  enter  the  question;  the 
fact  remained  that  Philip's  life  would  inevitably  be 
darkened,  every  gate  that  had  been  opened  to  him, 
bolted  and  barred.  With  a  prophetic  vision  she  saw 
into  the  future. 

"Allied  to  me!"  she  muttered.  "A  drag  upon  his 
heels  to  the  day  of  his  death." 

' '  Loyal  and  true ! ' '  she  whispered.  '  'And  how  have 
I  repaid  him?  He,  who  might  choose  any  woman. 


298    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

I  have  shown  myself  unfit  to  be  his  wife.  He  had  a 
greater  trust,  a  greater  faith  than  mine.  Shall  I 
reward  him  now  by  lowering  him  to  the  dust?  To 
share  the  life  of  such  as  I  am?" 

She  passed  a  hand  across  her  eyes. 

"He  thinks  he  needs  me.  But  in  time  he  will 
forget.  Better  for  him,  a  thousand  times.  As  for 
me — what  do  I  matter?  I  will  go — right  away,  and 
save  him  from  this  madness." 

Joan  rose  unsteadily  to  her  feet.  But  a  cloud  of 
doubt  came  into  her  eyes. 

"If  I  do — he  will  find  me!  He  said  it.  And  he 
keeps  his  word.  How  can  I  hide  myself  from  him?" 
She  seemed  to  see  Philip's  face  before  her,  strong, 
determined,  conquering.  "And  heaven  help  me,  I 
cannot  deny  him — when  his  arms  are  round  me,  and 
his  lips  on  mine.  For  I  am  weak." 

She  looked  towards  the  window.  Something  she 
saw  there  brought  a  swift  thought  flashing  through 
her  brain. 

"There  is  a  way!"  she  cried.  "I  can  make  it 
impossible !  Yes,  I  can  close  the  door  on  temptation, 
both  for  him  and  for  me.  I  have  the  power  to  finish 
it  once  for  all — and  nobody  can  ever  blame  him." 

She  snatched  a  letter  that  lay  on  the  table,  tore 
off  the  blank  half-sheet,  and  seized  a  pencil.  There 
was  a  moment's  pause. 

"What  if  even  this  fails  me?"  she  whispered. 
"That  would  be  the  last  irony!" 

Joan  gave  a  dreadful  little  laugh.  There  was  a 
light  almost  of  madness  in  her  eyes,  and  a  fierce 
resolve.  Controlling  herself  with  a  strong  effort,  she 


MOTTISFONT  PLEADS  GUILTY       299 

scribbled  a  few  words  on  the  paper  and  folded  it. 
She  opened  the  cage  swinging  in  the  window,  and 
took  out  Jack  Quicksilver,  the  homing  pigeon  that 
was  Alf's  last  gift. 

She  fastened  the  note  under  the  two  little  rubber 
bands  on  his  leg.  The  pigeon  made  no  resistance. 
She  opened  her  hand  to  let  him  go.  Then  for  an 
instant  her  heart  failed  her,  and  she  tried  to  retain 
him. 

Jack  eluded  her  deftly,  and  with  a  flap  of  his  wings 
settled  on  the  sill  of  the  open  window.  With  a  low 
croon  of  satisfaction  he  launched  himself  into  the 
air,  and  rose  above  the  roofs  opposite.  Higher  and 
higher  he  soared,  in  great  ringing  circles,  till  the 
smoky  city  lay  far  below. 

Then,  sure  of  his  bearing,  he  flew  north-eastwards 
to  Hackney,  swift  and  straight  as  an  arrow. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THE  SAFEGUARD 

MR.  ALFRED  BLODMORE,  in  a  large  overcoat,  with 
his  left  ear  slightly  swollen  and  a  muffler  round  his 
neck,  walked  along  Billiter  Street  towards  the  Nat- 
uralistic Emporium.  He  attracted  the  reverent  at- 
tention of  a  mob  of  small  boys. 

"There  he  goes,  fellers!"  exclaimed  a  lad  who  wore 
a  piece  of  sugar  sacking  picturesquely  spliced  into 
the  back  of  his  pants.  "Young  Alf  Blodmore — 
Lightning  Alf.  Just  back  from  Crump's  Stadium — 
he  outed  Larry  the  Twister  in  five  rounds  fer  the 
Lightweight  Belt." 

The  boy  addressed  expectorated  joyfully. 

"Tell  me  sufrin'  I  don't  know.  I  took  four  to  one 
about  him,  an*  I'm  goin*  to  touch  it.  Couldn't  get 
to  the  fight  meself — all  seats  full.  Ah,  he's  a  credit 
to  Hackney!" 

The  small  boys  raised  a  cheer  as  their  hero  went 
by,  and  Mr.  Blodmore,  the  pride  of  Billiter  Street, 
retreated  hastily  into  the  little  bird-shop.  The  lad 
who  was  minding  the  shop  received  the  news  of  Alf 's 
victory  with  mad  hilarity.  Alf  tipped  him  five 
shillings,  pulled  his  ear  affectionately,  and  went  up- 
stairs to  change  into  old  clothes.  Presently  he  en- 
tered the  loft  at  the  top  of  the  house  and,  seating 

300 


THE  SAFEGUARD  301 

himself  by  the  open  window,  became  thoughtful. 
There  were  still  times  when  Alf  felt  the  need  to  be 
alone. 

The  flush  of  perfect  health  was  on  his  skin,  despite 
the  battering  he  had  recently  received  in  the  Ring,  and 
there  was  courage  and  a  certain  grimness  in  his  eyes. 

"Old  Uncle's  right,"  he  said  meditatively;  "fight- 
in's  a  good  game.  It  knocks  the  rot  out  of  a  man. 
Hardens  him  up — teaches  him  not  to  grizzle  over 
what  can't  be  helped.  And  yet — I  can't  seem  to 
forget — sometimes ' ' 

He  shifted  in  his  seat. 

"Joan!     Little  Joan! 

"Right  above  me.  Outside  o'  my  world  alto- 
gether." He  heaved  a  big  sigh.  "  Ought  to  be  easy 
to  drop  it  for  good.  But  it  ain't.  If  only  it  wasn't 
for  that  lawyer  swine!"  Alf's  eyes  reddened,  and 
his  big  chin  stuck  out.  "Him!  Gosh,  I'd  give 
twenty  years  to  have  him  in  the  Ring  in  front  o'  me — 
without  the  gloves!" 

Alf  swore  softly. 

"I  wonder?"  he  murmured,  staring  through  the 
window  absently. 

There  was  a  rustle  and  clap  of  wings.  A  big  grey 
pigeon  lighted  on  the  sill.  Alf  stared  at  it  blankly, 
and  then  started  up  with  a  cry. 

"Jack  Quicksilver!"  he  exclaimed.  His  face 
changed  colour.  The  homer,  with  an  encouraging 
chuckle  of  welcome,  fluttered  onto  his  master's 
shoulder.  The  slip  of  folded  paper  attached  to  the 
bird's  leg  caught  Alf's  eye;  he  tore  it  away  almost 
roughly,  and  opened  it  with  eager  fingers.  Jack 


302    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

dropped  to  the  floor  and  began  unconcernedly  to 
pick  up  grains  of  corn. 

Come  to  me. — JOAN,  7  Firr  Road,  Lambeth. 

"There's  somethin'  wrong!"  gasped  Alf.  "What's 
she  doin'  there — now?  She  needs  me!" 

He  sprang  up  with  a  shout,  and  went  down  the 
stairs  like  a  whirlwind. 

"Mind  the  shop!"  he  bawled  to  the  boy,  as  he 
rushed  down  the  passage;  "I'm  off!" 

He  scudded  along  Billiter  Street,  his  overcoat 
flapping  in  the  wind  and  his  cap  over  one  eye. 

"Maybe  that  bloke  I  dotted  is  after  her  again," 
he  muttered;  "a  job  for  me!" 

An  hour  of  rapid  transit  brought  him  to  Lambeth, 
and  he  arrived,  breathless  and  panting,  in  the  little 
third-story  sitting-room.  Joan  Tallbois  was  there. 

She  was  standing  erect,  deadly  pale,  her  lips  curved 
in  a  faint,  fixed  smile,  that  reminded  Alf  of  a  waxwork 
figure.  He  stopped  short  and  stared  at  her,  smitten 
with  a  sudden  sense  of  tragedy  for  which  he  could 
not  account.  His  gaze  travelled  over  the  cheap  linen 
dress  and  the  worn  shoes.  The  look  of  strained 
suffering  in  her  eyes  made  him  shiver. 

"What's  gone  amiss?"  he  said  hoarsely.  "Jack 
brought  your  note.  You  want  anything  done,  Miss 
Joan?  You've  need  of  me ?" 

"The  question,"  said  Joan  quietly,  "is  whether  you 
have  need  of  me." 

He  gaped  at  her  wholly  at  a  loss.  Joan  looked  at 
him  strangely.  Twice  her  lips  moved  as  if  in  an 
effort  to  speak,  but  she  said  nothing. 


THE  SAFEGUARD  303 

"There's  something  you  want  me  to  do,"  he  said 
eagerly.  "Anything  on  earth — just  say  it  an'  it's 
done,  Joan — m'lady!" 

"Don't  call  me  that!"  she  said  quickly.  "Have 
you  not  heard?  Hasn't  Emmie  told  you?" 

"She's  told  me  nothin'.    I  ain't  seen  her." 

"Ah!  I  see,"  said  Joan  very  slowly,  the  colour 
flamed  once  to  her  cheeks  and  faded  again.  "I 
thought — perhaps  she  told  you.  No  doubt  she 
thinks — now — ' '  Her  voice  nearly  failed  her.  ' '  She's 
quite  right — "  Joan  swayed  a  little,  and  caught  at 
the  chair  beside  her. 

"You  ain't  well!"  exclaimed  Alf,  starting  for- 
ward in  alarm.  "Sit  down.  Shall  I  fetch  some- 
body?" 

"No,  no!  Don't  bring  anybody."  Joan  sank  into 
the  chair.  "Sit  right  over  there,  will  you,  Alf — by 
the  window."  He  seated  himself,  looking  rather 
frightened,  where  the  light  was  full  on  his  face. 
"There  has  been  a — a  blunder,"  said  Joan.  "I  am 
not  Lady  Tallbois.  I — I'm  turned  out.  I  have  no 
money — no  name — no  anything.  That  is  all." 

She  told  him  the  pith  of  the  story  in  a  strangely 
even,  emotionless  voice.  It  seemed  to  Alf  as  though 
he  were  listening  to  someone  talking  in  their  sleep. 
Yet  she  made  it  pitilessly  clear.  There  was  convic- 
tion in  every  word  she  said. 

The  thing  came  home  to  Alf  like  a  thunder-clap. 
For  a  few  moments  his  mind  seemed  to  grope  blindly 
after  the  truth.  Into  his  eyes  came  a  light  of  joy  and 
amazement  that  he  could  not  suppress — a  light  of 
hope.  He  sprang  up. 


304    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

"Then — you  ain't  a  viscountess!"  he  gasped. 
"You — you're  just — Joan!" 

She  nodded. 

"Joan,"  he  repeated  dazedly;  and  then,  with  a 
look  of  interrogation,  "Joan — Ayre?" 

"No,"  she  said.  "Not  that.  Joan  Nothing.  Joan 
Nobody.  Joan-without-a-name,"  she  said  very 
quietly.  "The  unclaimed  child  of  a  thief.  Now 
do  you  understand?" 

Alf  understood.  He  stared  at  her  blankly  and 
tried  to  speak. 

"What  of  it!"  he  said,  with  a  sudden  wild  out- 
burst. "Joan,  what's  all  this  talk  of  what  you  are? 
You're  Joan !  What  have  them  cursed  toffs  done  to 
you?"  * 

"Nothing.  I  have  come  back  to  my  friends. 
Emmie  has  given  me  shelter." 

"But,"  he  said  in  a  strangled  voice,  "that  chap 
you  was  goin'  to " 

Alf  checked  himself  in  time.  He  had  not  realized 
what  he  was  saying. 

"All  that  is  finished!"  she  said  swiftly,  almost 
fiercely. 

Alf  gasped. 

"If  they've  treated  you  bad,"  he  said,  shaking 
with  rage,  "all  that  kid-glove  crowd — let  me  pay  'em ! 
There  must  be  rights  of  yours  that  you  can  have  yet. 
Tell  me  more  about  it — give  me  the  job,  Joan;  it'll 
suit  me." 

"No!"  she  said  quickly,  "you  are  wrong.  And  all 
that  is  ended — finished.  Don't  speak  of  it  again. 
That's  not  what  I  called  you  here  for,  Alf." 


THE  SAFEGUARD  305 

"What,  then?"  he  said  bewildered. 

Joan  was  white  as  a  sheet.  She  did  not  look  at  him, 
but  stared  dully  at  the  wall,  and  for  some  time  was 
silent. 

"Can  you  not  guess?"  she  muttered,  "or — must  I 
tell  you?" 

There  was  a  stifled  noise  in  Alf  's  throat.  He  leaned 
forward,  trembling. 

"Joan!  D'you  mean — there's  a  chance  for  me?" 
he  said  hoarsely. 

She  turned  and  looked  straight  at  him. 

"Do  you  want  me — still?"  she  said  quietly. 

"Want  you?"  he  gasped,  rising  and  moving  slowly 
towards  her.  "To  me,  you're  just  the  highest  of 
all  the  women  as  walks  this  earth — an'  always  will  be. 
Lord  above  us,  do  you  think  I  care  what  you've  got 
or  ain't  got?  You're  you!  I  love  you.  Want  you!" 

She  held  up  her  hand. 

"  Stop ! "  she  said.  "  I  have  a  warning  to  give  you. 
It  will  be  best  for  you  to  go  now,  and  leave  the  word 
unsaid.  Best,  a  hundred  times,  for  you  to — to  turn 
me  down.  You  are  worth  a  much  better  fate  than 
I  can  give.  But  it  must  be  for  you  to  choose.  I  am 
going  to  be  quite  honest  with  you,  Alf.  I  do  not 
love  you.  There  is  no  hope  that  I  shall  ever  have 
love  to  give.  But  if  you  want  me — if  you  believe 
that  in  marrying  me  you  will  win  happiness" — she 
choked  back  a  sob — "take  me.  I'll  do  what  I  can — 
I'll  do  what  I  can — to  make  you  happy.  That  much 
I  promise." 

With  a  great  cry  he  fell  on  his  knees,  and  taking 
her  hands,  pressed  them  to  his  lips. 


306    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

"Joan!  It's  all  I  ever  hoped  for!"  he  said  thickly. 
"Why  should  you  love  me — a  chap  like  me?  But 
you'll  take  me,  an'  I'm  happier  now  than  if  the  world 
was  mine.  Joan,  you've  promised!  You've  prom- 
ised!" 

She  gave  a  faint  shiver. 

"Am  I  right  or  wrong?"  she  whispered,  staring 
past  him.  "Let  me  do  this  one  good  thing — if  it  is 
good.  Let  me  bring  happiness  to  someone — I,  who 
yet  have  brought  only  sorrow  to  others."  She  felt 
a  tear  drop  on  the  hands  that  Alf  was  holding.  ' '  That 
two  good  men  should  suffer — and  care  for  such  as  I 
am!"  she  said,  under  her  breath.  "The  pity  of  it!" 

"Joan!"  he  cried.  "I  only  ask  to  live  an' 
serve  you!  It  shall  be  yours  to  command — always. 
Say  it  again,  Joan — you'll  marry  me!" 

"There  is  one  condition,"  she  said,  "my  last." 

"Name  it!  Anything  in  the  world  that  you  ask 
o'  me." 

"That  it  shall  be  done  quickly,"  she  said,  with  a 
gasp  and  a  rush  of  colour  to  her  face.  "Alf,  this — 
this  marriage  must  be  soon.  I  am  yours — you  have 
said  it.  I  cannot  be  left  alone — to  wait,  and  think. 
I  wish  it  to  be  at  once!" 

He  rose,  looking  almost  scared;  by  the  look  in 
her  eyes  he  thought  she  was  hysterical.  But  he  rose 
to  the  occasion. 

"At  once?  I  wish  it  were  now!"  Alf  exclaimed. 
He  believed  he  guessed  her  reason.  He  thought 
rapidly.  "Thursday  now — in  two  days  it  can  be 
done,  licence  an'  all.  I  know  the  ropes — many's  the 
time  I've  lain  awake  thinkin'  of  it."  He  flushed  red 


THE  SAFEGUARD  307 

in  his  turn.  "Joan,"  he  said  haltingly,  "you  won't 
mind  a — a  registry  office?" 

"I  do  not  mind  anything,"  she  said,  turning 
away,  "as  long  as  there  is — no  delay." 

"Saturday,  then,"  he  said  quickly;  "that's  the 
earliest.  Ten  in  the  morning  they  open.  I'll  see  to 
it  all." 

"Saturday,"  she  said,  "at  ten."  She  paused  an 
instant;  once  more  that  terrible  little  laugh,  which 
she  could  not  control,  broke  from  her.  With  an 
effort  she  mastered  herself.  "You  know  best,  Alf. 
I  leave  it  all  to  you.  I  will  write  to  you,  Alf,  telling 
you  where  to  find  me — for  I  don't  know  if  I  shall 
be  here.  But  I  won't  fail  you — I  won't  fail  you,  on 
my  honour !  And  now  will  you  please  leave  me,  for 
I'm  very  tired.  For  pity's  sake  leave  me  now!" 

He  had  risen  to  his  feet,  and  looked  at  her  steadily. 
He  caught  her  hands  again,  and  kissed  them.  And 
that  was  all. 

"No  one  lives  who  could  take  you  from  me  now!" 
he  said  huskily.  "  I'm  at  your  orders,  Joan.  I'll  go." 

A  last  look,  and  he  left  the  room  swiftly.  Joan 
sank  down  beside  the  table  and  buried  her  face  in 
her  hands. 

It  was  some  time  later  when  Emmie  Clegg,  in 
cloak  and  feathered  hat,  came  into  the  room.  Joan 
was  sitting  by  the  empty  hearth.  Emmie  looked 
at  her  curiously,  but  the  girl  did  not  move. 

"Feelin*  all  right,  old  girl?"  said  Emmie  heartily. 

"Yes,  dear,"  said  Joan  listlessly. 

"A  bit  tired,  eh?  You  sit  there  an'  rest.  I'll 
make  some  tea." 


308    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

There  was  no  answer.  Emmie  bustled  about  the 
room,  but  she  glanced  at  Joan  with  a  puzzled  air, 
and  presently  came  across  and  put  her  arms  round 
the  girl's  shoulders. 

"Weren't  you  goin'  to  tell  me,  Joan?"  she  whis- 
pered. "I  know!" 

"Know  what,  Emmie?" 

"Bless  the  girl,  what's  wrong  with  her?  That 
you're  goin'  to  be  married  o'  Saturday!"  said  Emmie 
hysterically,  "an'  I'm  to  be  bridesmaid,  Joan!" 

"Of — of  course  I  was  going  to  tell  you,  Emmie," 
said  Joan,  with  a  gulp,  "but  how  did  you  know?" 

"I  met  him  down  below,  not  two  hours  ago,  comin' 
away  from  here.  He  told  me." 

"You  met  him,  Emmie?"  cried  Joan. 

"Yes.  The — the  swell."  Emmie  smiled,  but  her 
eyelashes  were  wet. 

' '  Mister  Philip  Mottisf ont, ' '  she  said  primly.  And 
suddenly  she  gave  Joan  a  hug  like  a  bear's,  laughing 
and  crying  all  in  a  breath. 

Joan  tore  herself  free. 

"Don't,  Emmie,  for  Heaven's  sake!"  she  said 
brokenly. 

"What  do  you  mean?  You're  goin'  to  be  mar- 
ried?" 

"I  know  I  am.    To  Alfred  Blodmore." 

"Alf  Blodmore!"  gasped  Emmie.  She  looked  per- 
fectly stunned. 

"He  was  here  just  now,"  said  Joan  quietly.  "I 
sent  for  him.  He  still  cares  for  me — why,  I  don't 
know.  I  have  given  him  my  promise.  On  Satur- 
day I  shall  marry  him."  She  spoke  quite  calmly. 


THE  SAFEGUARD  309 

"Nothing  can  alter  it.  I  am  glad  nothing  can  alter 
it." 

She  turned  suddenly  upon  Emmie. 

"Why  do  you  look  at  me  like  that?  Isn't  it  the 
one  thing  in  the  world  that  should  please  you?  Were 
you  not  always  urging  me  to  marry  him?" 

"I  know  I  was,"  said  Emmie  slowly,  "an'  yet, 
Mottisfont— 

"Mottisfont!"  returned  Joan  bitterly.  "Wasn't 
it  you  who  said  you  hated  him  and  all  his  clan  ?  Who 
dared  to  say  that  he  was  without  honour?" 

"I  said  all  that,"  replied  Emmie.  "And  I  take  it 
all  back.  Because  I  was  a  blithering  idiot,  is  that 
any  reason  why  you  should  be  one?"  She  came  a 
step  nearer.  "You  love  him,  an'  he  loves  you. 
You're  going  to  marry  Alf?" 

"I  have  given  my  word.  There  is  no  power  can 
prevent  me.  In  pity's  name,  no  more  of  it,  Emmie ! " 

"An'  turn  Mottisfont  down?" 

"Yes." 

"You're  a  fool!"  said  Emmie  fiercely.  "He  ain't 
a  swell — he's  a  gentleman!  That  man  has  a  heart 
of  gold!" 

"Do  you  think  I  don't  know  that?"  said  Joan 
wearily. 

Without  another  word  she  crossed  the  room, 
stretched  herself  on  the  bed,  and  turned  her  face  to 
the  wall. 

Emmie  looked  at  her,  and  then  stared  blankly  at 
the  empty  pigeon  cage. 

"This,"  said  Emmie  tragically,  "is  a  nice  old  mess! 
What  in am  I  goin'  to  do  now?" 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE  PRIMITIVE  MALE 

PHILIP  MOTTISFONT  entered  his  chambers  in  the 
Temple,  carrying  a  small  handbag.  The  dusk  was 
falling,  and  a  thin  fog  made  the  stairs  even  dimmer 
than  usual.  He  was  dressed  from  head  to  foot  in 
black ;  even  his  tie  was  of  the  same  sombre  hue.  He 
had  spent  the  last  six  hours  in  travelling  from  the 
North,  and  was  very  stiff  and  tired. 

He  barely  glanced  at  the  letters  awaiting  him ;  the 
handwriting  he  hoped  to  see  was  not  there.  He 
changed  quickly  into  a  suit  of  tweeds  and  prepared 
to  go  out  again.  Just  then  the  telephone  rang. 

"That  Mr.  Mottisfont?"  said  a  grating  voice  in 
the  receiver. 

' '  Yes.    Who's  speaking  ? " 

"It's  all  up,"  said  the  voice,  very  blurred  and  in- 
distinct. "Joan's  gone!" 

Click — buzz!  said  the  telephone  ironically.  The 
speaker  had  rung  off.  No  reply  could  be  got.  Mot- 
tisfont, after  one  attempt,  let  go  the  receiver. 

In  the  streets  the  fog  was  making  traffic  difficult. 
But  it  did  not  delay  Philip  appreciably.  With  a 
stern  face  and  a  set  jaw  he  arrived  at  Emmie's 
quarters.  He  found  her  alone,  very  pale,  her  hair 
disordered,  and  her  eyes  showed  plainly  that  she  had 

310 


THE  PRIMITIVE  MALE  311 

been  crying.  She  even  shrank  a  little,  when  he  camein. 

"I've  failed,"  she  said  miserably.  "Failed  you. 
You  can  say  what  you  like  to  me.  She's  gone." 

"I  am  not  blaming  you  at  all,"  he  replied.  "Was 
that  your  message?" 

"Yes.  Sent  it  from  the  call-office,"  she  replied 
dully.  "Maybe  I'd  no  right  to  send  it.  But  I  just 
had  to — after  what  you  said  to  me  o'  Thursday. 
She's  mad.  She's  given  me  the  slip — 'spite  of  all." 

Emmie  took  a  step  nearer  to  him. 

"I  never  thought  to  pity  you,  or  help  you!"  she 
said  in  stifled  tones,  "but  I  do!  I  believe  she's 
written  you  a  letter.  You'll  get  it  tomorrow — an' 
then  it'll  be  too  late.  She's  goin'  to  marry  Alf — " 
Emmie  checked  herself,  and  began  to  cry  helplessly. 

"Alf?"  said  Philip  slowly,  his  eyes  fixed  on  her. 
"Alf?" 

With  uncanny  swiftness  his  mind  travelled  back  to 
a  certain  meeting  in  the  Strand,  not  so  long  ago — 
a  quaint-looking  bounder  in  loud  tweeds  and  a  cap. 
There  were  reminiscences  about  that  meeting. 
Thence  memory  retreated  farther  still,  to  a  boating- 
party  on  the  river  at  Clievemead.  "Alf"  was  the 
essential  name  for  such  a  personality  as  that. 

"Alf ! "  he  repeated  thoughtfully.  He  turned  away 
from  Emmie,  whose  existence  he  appeared  to  have 
forgotten.  There  was  a  long  silence. 

"You  better  go,"  said  Emmie  in  a  strangled  voice. 
"There's  nothin'  you  can  do.  An'  you  could  never 
understand." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said  quietly.  "I  under- 
stand perfectly." 


312    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

Emmie  stared  at  him. 

"I  hate  myself  for  tellin'  you,"  she  sobbed.  "I'm 
givin'  her  away.  But  she  ain't  playin'  fair,"  said 
Emmie  fiercely.  "She  ain't  playin'  fair!  She " 

"Will  you  oblige  me,"  said  Philip,  "by  leaving 
out  all  criticism  or  censure  of  Joan.  The  fault  is 
mine.  I  am  going  to  put  it  right.  You  don't  know 
where  Joan  is  at  present?" 

"I  don't,"  she  muttered.  "I  might  know  in  the 
morning.  Even  then  I  should  not  tell  you.  It's 
kinder  now  to  leave  her  alone!" 

"I  agree,"  he  answered.  " I  have  not  the  slightest 
intention  of  troubling  her.  The  matter  is  simple. 
It  lies  between  me  and — Alf." 

The  quiet  conviction  of  his  tone  took  Emmie 
aback.  She  had  expected  an  outburst  of  wrath. 

"There  is  only  one  thing  I  require,"  he  said.  His 
tall  form  stood  over  her,  it  seemed  to  her  that  he 
filled  the  room.  "Will  you  tell  me  where  I  shall 
find— Alf?" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"He's  a  friend  o'  mine,"  she  said  huskily,  "and  a 
good  'un." 

"I  understand  that,  too,"  he  said  gravely. 

He  glanced  round  the  room.  An  envelope,  newly 
addressed  and  stamped,  lay  on  the  table.  The  name 
caught  his  eye — "Mr.  Alfred  Blodmore,  90  Billiter 
Street,  Hackney."  He  lifted  the  envelope  deliber- 
ately and  looked  at  it.  Emmie,  with  a  startled 
gesture,  made  as  though  to  prevent  him,  but  it  was 
too  late. 

"Oh,"  he  said,  tossing  the  letter  down,  "saves 


THE  PRIMITIVE  MALE  313 

time.  It  was  no  great  matter — I  should  have  found 
him  anyhow — without  fail.  You  need  feel  no  doubt 
about  that." 

"It's  all  beyond  me,"  she  sobbed.  "I  can  do 
nothin'.  This  is  a  thing  that  men  must  settle  be- 
tween themselves.  No  woman  can  help  in  it." 

"I  agree  with  you  entirely,"  said  Philip.  "What 
you  say  is  sound  sense." 

He  was  moving  towards  the  door,  but  she  stopped 
him,  a  sudden  fear  in  her  eyes. 

"What  are  you  goin'  to  do?"  she  cried. 

"I  cannot  tell  you  that.  But  I  shall  see  you,  most 
probably,  later  on.  Your  good  offices  will  still  be 
required." 

He  paused  after  opening  the  door,  and  glanced  back. 

"Do  not  blame  yourself  in  the  least,"  he  said,  "for 
anything  that  has  happened.  You  are  a  brick, 
Emmie !  Straight — loyal — honest.  But  what  I  most 
admire  is  your  common  sense." 

He  was  gone  before  she  could  answer.  It  was  more 
than  an  hour's  journey  to  Billiter  Street,  Hackney, 
and  the  fog  made  it  difficult  to  read  the  numbers 
over  the  houses.  Philip  walked  into  Mr.  Samuel 
Taggart's  Naturalistic  Emporium.  The  small  boy 
was  dozing  behind  the  counter,  and  Alf  was  placing 
covers  over  bird  cages.  He  turned  sharply. 

"Mr.  Blodmore,  I  think,"  said  Philip  quietly.  "I 
shall  be  glad  of  a  word  with  you — in  private.  My 
name  is  Mottisfont." 

Alf's  eyes  grew  hard  as  flint.  His  face  flushed  a 
dark  red.  For  a  moment  he  stared  at  Philip  in  silence. 

"Come  in  'ere!"  he  said  thickly,  and  turning,  led 


3H   THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

the  way  to  a  wide,  whitewashed  room  at  the  back 
of  the  shop,  lit  by  a  flaring  gas-jet.  Alf  lit  another 
gas-jet  opposite,  with  grim  deliberation,  and  then 
turned  to  face  his  visitor. 

"Say  what  you  got  to  say — quick!"  he  remarked 
grimly. 

"I  apologize  for  troubling  you  with  my  private 
affairs,"  said  Philip.  "Tomorrow,  however,  Joan 
Tallbois  and  I  are  going  to  be  married.  I  believe  it 
is  due  to  you  to  know  this." 

Alf  could  scarcely  get  his  breath. 

"Marry  her?"  he  said  dizzily.  "You?"  He 
looked  round  him  for  support.  "Then — she  ain't 
lost  her  money,  after  all!" 

"It  is  strange,"  said  Philip  reflectively,  "how 
everybody  harps  on  the  same  thing — and  always 
with  just  the  same  emphasis.  I  begin  to  find  it 
tedious." 

Alf  looked  at  him  with  the  air  of  a  dangerous  beast 
about  to  spring,  and  his  eyes  glowed  red. 

"I  got  only  one  thing  to  say  to  you,"  he  said 
through  his  teeth.  "Joan  an'  I  get  married  in  the 
morning.  Married ! ' ' 

"It  is  obvious,"  said  Philip,  "that  one  of  us  is 
wrong." 

"You're  wastin'  breath,  you  dog,"  said  Alf  quietly. 
"I  got  her  word." 

"Mine  is  the  prior  claim,  Mr.  Blodmore.  Do  you 
care  to  listen  while  I  tell  you  why?" 

Alf  took  two  quick  steps  nearer  Philip,  and  glared 
into  his  eyes. 

"Listen,"  he  said  hoarsely,  "to  you?    You  swine! 


THE  PRIMITIVE  MALE  315 

You  an'  your  kid-glove  crowd  have  done  her  down ! 
An'  even  now  you  can't  let  her  alone!  I've  wanted 
ter  get  you  to  meself  like  this — Gaw!  how  I've 
wanted  it!  An'  now  it's  come!" 

He  strode  swiftly  past,  kicked  the  door  to,  turned 
the  key,  and  flung  it  into  a  corner.  Then  he  came 
back  to  Philip,  his  hands  twitching  suggestively. 

"She  might  ha*  been  happy — long  ago — if  it 
hadn't  been  for  you,"  he  said  thickly.  Alf  paused, 
and  his  lips  drew  back  from  his  teeth  in  a  savage 
snarl.  "You  dog!  There's  a  quick  way  out  of  this. 
I'll  fight  you  for  her!" 

Philip  smiled. 

"Now  that,"  he  said  pleasantly,  "seems  to  me  an 
excellent  suggestion."  His  hand  slid  to  the  top 
button  of  his  coat. 

Alf  tore  off  his  jacket  and  flung  it  down.  In  a 
few  moments  they  were  both  stripped  to  the  buff. 
Alf  tightened  his  leather  belt. 

"Strange,"  said  Philip,  "how  much  more  simple 
sense  there  is  in  Lambeth  and  Hackney  than  in 
Mayfair  or  the  Courts  of  Justice." 

Alf  advanced  towards  him. 

"I  reckon,"  he  said  with  deadly  earnestness,  "I'm 
goin'  to  kill  you  afore  I  leave  this  room.  You  need 
it.  It'd  be  a  good  bit  o'  work ! " 

"It  might  be  satisfactory  in  a  way,"  replied  Philip, 
"but  inconvenient  for  the  survivor.  Instead  of  a 
wedding  he  would  find  himself  in  the  Old  Bailey 
with  an  eventual  two  years  for  manslaughter.  These, 
Mr.  Blodmore,  are  the  disadvantages  of  the  times 
we  live  in." 


316 

He  saw  that  the  man  was  not  himself;  the  lust  of 
killing  glared  from  Alf's  eyes.  Philip  reached  down 
the  set  of  hard  and  blackened  four-ounce  gloves  that 
hung  on  the  wall  and  tossed  a  pair  to  his  opponent. 

Alf  laughed  aloud. 

' '  Mufflers  ? "  he  sneered  ferociously.  ' '  Frightened, 
eh?" 

Philip  laughed.  ' '  Consider,  Mr.  Blodmore.  One  of 
us  is  going  to  be  married  in  the  morning.  A  bridegroom 
does  not  look  well  with  black  eyes  and  an  enlarged  ear. 
Imagine  the  scandalized  face  of  the  registrar." 

The  insane  fury  in  Alf's  eyes  relaxed  a  little.  He 
stared  and  gave  a  faint  chuckle. 

"Funny  bloke  for  a  lawyer,  you  are,"  he  said, 
running  his  eye  over  Philip's  superb  proportions  and 
rippling  muscles.  "D'you  know  who  you're  up 
against?  Sam  Taggart's  nephew,  that  outed  the 
Chatham  Chicken  in  the  fourth  round!" 

"So  I  believe.  I  remembered  it  as  soon  as  I  heard 
your  name.  I  was  runner-up  for  the  Amateur  Cham- 
pionship the  year  after  I  came  down  from  Magdalen," 
said  Philip,  "but  I  cannot  pretend  to  be  in  your  class. 
When  you  are  ready,  Mr.  Blodmore." 

"I'll  show  you  the  sort  o'  meat  I  make  o'  your 
kind!"  said  Alf,  his  face  darkening  again.  He  took 
his  place,  and  put  his  hands  up. 

"I  find  you  much  more  interesting,  Mr.  Blodmore, 
than  I  thought  I  should,"  replied  Philip,  and  the  next 
moment  Alf  was  upon  him  like  a  whirlwind. 

He  did  not  pay  Philip  the  compliment  of  testing 
him  or  looking  for  an  opening.  He  led  with  a  whiz- 
zing left  and  followed  it  with  slam  after  slam  at 


THE  PRIMITIVE  MALE  317 

lightning  speed.  Evidently  he  expected  a  swift 
victory.  He  was  not  going  to  waste  ring-craft  on 
such  an  opponent  as  this. 

The  thudding  of  the  gloves  echoed  round  the  white- 
washed walls.  To  Alf 's  surprise  not  a  single  blow  came 
fully  home.  Philip's  guard  changed  and  shifted  with 
deft  speed,  stalling  off  the  straight-handed  drives 
that  would  have  sent  a  lighter  man  flying  back 
against  the  wall.  Alf  became  aware  of  a  cool,  wary 
blue  eye  watching  him  above  the  guarding  arms. 
The  eye  annoyed  Alf.  He  lashed  out  with  his  right, 
a  lull  body-swing.  Philip  side-stepped  it  and  came 
in  with  a  short-arm  left  jolt  that  landed  fairly  hard 
under  Alf 's  jaw  and  made  the  teeth  rattle  in  his  head. 
The  blow  should  have  steadied  Alf,  but  it  did  not. 
He  saw  that  Mottisfont  was  smiling  slightly,  and  at 
the  sight  of  that  face  before  him,  which  epitomized 
everything  he  hated  in  the  world,  the  demon  in  Alf 's 
soul  broke  loose.  All  the  teaching  of  his  trainer,  the 
iron  lessons  of  self-command,  were  flung  away.  He 
came  at  Philip  with  fists  driving  like  the  pistons  of  a 
racing  engine,  every  blow  with  the  full  force  of  body 
and  arms  behind  it.  A  red  mist  swam  before  his 
eyes. 

If  the  first  attack  was  a  whirlwind  this  was  a  hur- 
ricane. It  was  blind  slogging  of  the  most  ferocious 
kind;  his  one  desire  seemed  to  be  to  drive  Philip 
into  the  wall  and  finish  him.  To  avoid  those  per- 
petually whizzing  gloves  was  impossible,  but  Philip's 
elbows  and  forearms  guarded  his  body,  and  though 
he  seemed  to  swing  and  sway  under  the  tornado  of 
blows  that  beat  upon  his  guard,  Philip's  footwork  was 


318    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

admirable.  He  did  not  attempt  to  reply  till,  forced 
back  towards  the  wall  Philip  side-stepped  deftly, 
brought  his  left  to  the  mark  and  whipped  his  right 
over  in  a  terrific  cross-hit  to  the  jaw.  Alf 's  back  and 
shoulders  struck  the  boards  with  a  bump  that  made 
the  dust  fly. 

Philip  stood  back  and  drew  breath.  The  young 
pugilist,  tough  as  wire,  was  up  in  three  seconds.  As 
if  by  magic  the  crazy  light  had  gone  out  of  his  eyes, 
that  were  now  clear  and  keen  as  needle-points  when 
he  faced  his  adversary  afresh.  And  though  there 
was  dawning  respect  in  them,  he  looked  twice  as 
dangerous  an  opponent. 

"Make  the  most  o'  that,"  he  said  quietly.  "I  got 
you  set!" 

They  met  again  in  the  centre  of  the  floor.  For 
half  a  dozen  seconds  they  felt  round  each  other 
warily,  arms  bent,  gloves  almost  touching.  Then  Alf 
feinted  ever  so  slightly  to  the  body  with  his  left,  and 
loosed  a  right  upper-cut  that  came  home  under 
Philip's  guard  with  a  crash  that  sent  him  full  length 
on  the  floor. 

It  had  all  the  appearance  of  a  knock-out.  Alf 
pressed  in  quickly  and  stood  over  him,  when  suddenly 
Philip,  with  a  bent  knee  and  one  hand  to  the  floor, 
sprang  up  and  ducked  under  a  swing,  regaining  his 
feet.  He  stalled  and  covered  himself  desperately 
against  the  slashing  attack  that  followed,  making  a 
wonderful  recovery.  Two  driving  blows  over  the 
heart  came  through  his  guard  before  he  was  fully 
himself  again,  and  though  Philip  kept  his  feet  he 
knew — as  he  had  guessed  from  the  first — that  he  was 


THE  PRIMITIVE  MALE  319 

outmatched.  Nothing  but  a  miracle  could  save  him 
from  defeat. 

The  pace  was  too  fierce  to  last.  Philip  rallied  all 
his  powers  with  an  effort,  and  attacking  once  more, 
drove  Alf  before  him  by  sheer  force.  The  younger 
man  gave  back.  There  were  two  chairs  in  a  corner; 
neither  of  the  fighters  realized  how  close  they  were 
upon  them.  Philip  whipped  his  right  for  the  mark 
with  all  his  strength,  but  struck  low,  flush  under  the 
belt.  Alf  turned  white  and  staggered,  his  arms  wide 
and  the  chair  catching  him  behind  the  knees;  his 
shoulders  struck  the  wall. 

"Sorry!"  exclaimed  Philip,  drawing  back  quickly. 
"Take  your  time." 

"S'all  right,"  gasped  Alf.    "I  guarded  it  down." 

He  gulped,  recovered  with  uncommon  quickness 
and  came  forward  again  immediately,  gazing  at 
Philip. 

"Gaw,"  he  said,  "you're  a  Man!  But  you  gotter 
go  through  it!" 

The  stamp  and  whirl  of  the  fight  proceeded  with 
redoubled  energy.  Every  second  it  went  worse  for 
Philip.  Blow  upon  blow  came  through  his  fences. 
It  was  only  now  and  then  that  he  could  touch  his 
opponent,  and  then  not  seriously.  The  inexorable 
right  slipped  again  and  again  through  his  guard, 
feeling  for  his  heart.  For  full  three  minutes  of  fierce 
in-fighting  he  received  a  terrible  handling.  The 
amount  of  punishment  he  took  astonished  Alf,  who, 
however,  felt  him  failing  slowly. 

It  was  the  difference  between  a  man  fit,  powerful, 
and  skilled,  but  whose  trade  was  not  boxing — and 


320    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

one  bred  to  the  game  and  trained  to  the  ounce. 
Every  trick  of  ring-craft  at  Alf's  command  was 
brought  into  play;  he  was  fighting  with  his  head  as 
well  as  his  wrought-steel  muscles — fighting  with  piti- 
less resolve.  Not  once  did  he  make  the  least  error. 

With  drooping  guard  Philip  stood  up  to  the  smash 
and  thud  of  the  gloves,  bearing  up  under  many  a 
blow  that  would  have  broken  and  dropped  a  weaker 
man.  His  eye  was  unquelled,  yet  the  room  was 
swimming  about  him,  his  face  grey-white,  the  breath 
all  but  beaten  from  his  body.  Even  now  he  encoun- 
tered whenever  there  was  a  chance.  Scarcely  able 
to  stand  he  made  a  gallant  but  useless  rally;  a  swing- 
ing hit  on  the  jaw  staggered  him,  and  Alf's  left  came 
home  again  over  his  heart. 

"Get  down — you!"  hissed  Alf  between  his  teeth 
between  the  blows.  "  Down — an'  under!  An'  when 
you're  down — d'ye  hear? — I'm  goin'  to  Joan !  You'll 
be  'ere,  but  I'm  goin'  to  Joan! — an'  then " 

A  flush  hit  on  the  mouth  was  the  answer.  Alf 
shook  his  head,  and  springing  in  lashed  a  terrific 
right  and  left  to  the  body.  Philip  reeled,  and  his 
arms  dropped.  Round  came  Alf's  right  to  the  jaw — 
the  blow  that  Samuel  Taggart  called  a  gift. 

Philip  fell  as  a  bull  falls  under  the  pole-axe,  and 
lay  still. 

Alf  looked  at  him  with  twitching  lips.  Then,  tear- 
ing off  his  right  glove,  he  snatched  the  key  from  the 
table  in  the  corner.  As  he  came  back  across  the  room, 
Philip  moved,  staggered  to  his  feet,  half  fell  with  his 
back  against  the  door,  and  faced  him. 

It  was  as  though  a  corpse  had  stood  up.    Philip 


THE  PRIMITIVE  MALE  321 

could  not  fight;  he  could  scarcely  lift  his  hands,  yet 
he  raised  them  slowly,  his  head  rolled  on  his  shoulders, 
his  voice  was  a  faint  rattle  in  his  throat. 

"You  do  not  pass,"  he  said,  "while  there  is  life 
left  in  me." 

ax 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THE  VICTOR 

ALF  heard  the  faint  whisper  and  drew  back  his 
left  to  strike.  One  more  blow  would  have  crashed 
Mottisfont  onto  the  panel  and  dropped  him,  stunned 
and  finished.  But  slowly  Alf's  gloved  fist  was 
lowered  till  it  hung  at  his  side. 

He  stared  at  the  swaying,  beaten  figure  before  him, 
the  ferocity  faded  from  his  face ;  something  like  awe 
came  into  his  eyes.  He  was  in  the  presence  of  a  will 
so  indomitable  that  it  passed  his  comprehension. 

For  several  moments  Alf  paused,  irresolute.  He 
was  fighting  no  longer,  but  thinking.  Suddenly  he 
dragged  off  his  remaining  glove  and,  seizing  Philip 
by  the  arms,  pulled  him  across  the  room  and  thrust 
him  into  one  of  the  chairs  by  the  wall. 

"Sit  there!"  he  said,  and  dropped  into  the  chair 
opposite.  "There's  somethin'  behind  all  this,  that 
get's  me.  It's  just  beyond  me!  You're  a  Man!  I 
gotter  hear  your  side."  He  waited  quietly  for  his 
rival  to  recover. 

Philip  struggled  for  breath.  He  leaned  across  the 
table,  and  gripped  Alf  by  the  arm. 

"Listen,  Blodmore,"  he  said,  "we  are  two  men, 
you  and  I.  What  is  our  first  object  on  this  earth? 

322 


THE  VICTOR  323 

Is  it  our  own  desire — or  the  happiness  of  the  woman 
we  both  love?" 

Alf  said  no  word. 

"I  have  one  question  to  ask  you,"  said  Philip. 
"Give  me  an  honest  answer  from  an  honest  man — 
the  answer  that  is  in  your  heart.  Does  Joan  Tallbois 
love  you?  Has  she  ever  loved  you?" 

An  answer  trembled  on  Alf 's  lips.  But  it  did  not 
pass  them.  He  grew  strangely  pale,  glanced  at  Philip, 
and  then  looked  away.  There  was  a  tense  silence. 

"She  does  not,"  said  Philip  gently.  "Why,  who 
can  say?  I  think  you  are  the  better  man.  It  so 
happens  that  she  has  given  me  her  heart.  Little  as 
I  deserve  it,  that  great  honour  has  been  done  me. 
She  is  promised  to  me — she  has  given  me  her  word. 
Now,  at  the  eleventh  hour,  having  lost  certain  things 
on  which  some  fools  of  my  class  place  a  value,  she 
has  made  this  compact  with  you  because  she  thinks 
that  I  should  lose  by  marrying  a  girl  who  is  poor. 
I,  who  love  her,  and  her  only.  In  an  hour  of  pain, 
overwrought  by  suffering,  not  knowing  what  she  did, 
Joan  has  done  this  thing."  His  fingers  gripped  Alf's 
arm. 

'  'Answer !    Can  you  hold  her  to  a  bargain  like  that  ? ' ' 

Alf  rose  with  a  faint  gasp.  He  walked  across  the 
room  and  turned  again,  his  face  a  conflict  of  emotions. 
He  stared  straight  in  front  of  him  with  unseeing  eyes. 

"She  never  loved  me,"  he  said  under  his  breath. 
"I  know  that." 

"Blodmore,"  said  Mottisfont  very  quietly,  "ask 
yourself,  would  she  be  happy  with  you?  Try  and 
put  yourself  in  her  place.  Could  a  greater  wrong  be 


324   THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

done  to  her — to  you — and  to  me  ?  But  think  of  her 
first,  man!  Nothing  else  matters  but  that." 

Alf 's  features  worked  piteously.  All  arrogance  had 
gone  out  of  him. 

"You're  askin'  something  o'  me!"  he  muttered. 
Suddenly  he  turned  again,  almost  fiercely,  on  Philip. 
"You're  askin'  something  o*  me,"  he  said  through 
his  teeth.  "  Put  yourself  in  my  place.  What  would 
you  do — you — toff?" 

"Heaven  knows,"  said  Philip.  "You  are  a  man. 
You  have  to  answer  for  yourself." 

There  was  a  long  silence.  Alf 's  face  was  white  and 
haggard. 

"No!"  he  cried  with  an  oath.  "I'm  a  man  an' 
not  a  cur.  I  can't  hold  her  to  it!" 

He  strode  right  up  to  Philip. 

"You're  goin'  to  marry  her?" 

"In  the  morning." 

"Marry  her!"  said  Alf  thickly,  "that's  what  got 
me.  I  didn't  believe  it.  You're  a  man  too — an'  I 
thought  you  was  a  beast!  You  stood  up  to  me — to 
prove  it.  An'  let  me  beat  the  life  out  o'  you!  You 
stand  by  her  now  she's  down  an'  out!" 

He  drew  a  long  breath. 

' '  She's  yours !  Always  been  yours — from  the  first. 
I  stood  no  chance.  God  help  you  to  make  her  happy ! 
An'  get  out  o'  here!  I  hate  the  sight  o'  you!  I 
hate " 

Philip  stood  up.  There  was  admiration  in  his 
eyes,  and  in  his  heart  an  intense  pity. 

Alf  unlocked  the  door  with  shaking  fingers  and 
threw  it  open. 


THE  VICTOR  325 

'"Ere— wait!"  he  said  dully.  "What  about— 
her?  How're  we  goin'  to  fix  things?  I  don't  see 
no  way  through  it." 

"I  do,"  replied  Philip.  "It  will  be  quite  simple. 
Only — she  is  gone." 

Alf  considered  a  moment. 

"No  good  doing  things  by  halves,"  he  muttered; 
"got  to  think  of  her  first.  I'll  tell  you  where  she  is." 

He  approached  and  said  a  few  words  under  his 
breath  to  Philip,  who  looked  at  him,  and  answered  a 
little  huskily. 

"Blodmore,"  Philip  said,  "there  are  many  things  I 
could  say  to  you.  I  will  leave  them  all  out  except  this. 
You  are  one  of  the  few  gentlemen  I  have  ever  known." 

' '  Cut  that  out, ' '  muttered  Alf.  ' '  How  are  we  goin' 
to  make  things  easier  for  her  ?  It's  a  norf ul  mess  she's 
got  herself  into — for  a  gal.  Don't  want  her  to  feel 
it's  her  fault." 

"We  both  agree  on  that." 

"Joan's  stood  all  she  can  stand,"  said  Alf  chokily. 
"You  never  know  what  they'll  do — when  they're 
like  that.  Better  if  she  could  know  nothin'  about  it — 
till  the  last  moment." 

"My  own  view,  exactly,"  said  Philip  gravely. 

He  looked  round  the  room.  The  fog  was  blowing 
in  from  the  passage.  From  a  peg  on  the  wall  hung 
Alf 's  old  brown  overcoat  and  tweed  cap. 

"Let  me  have  these,"  he  said.  "You  can  have 
mine." 

A  flash  of  quick  intelligence  came  into  Alf's  face. 

"Take  'em ! "  he  said.  "An'  look  here.  You  know 
Emmie  Clegg?" 


326    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

"Do  I  not!"  said  Philip  with  a  half  smile. 

"Well,  give  Emmie  the  office!  Put  it  to  her 
straight.  She'll  see  it  through.  I  know  who  she's 
backin',  an'  she  knows  more  about  these  things  than 
me  or  you.  You  can  trust  Emmie — she's  got  brains." 

' '  You  never  said  a  truer  word, ' '  replied  Philip.  He 
turned,  and  then  hesitating,  seemed  about  to  hold 
out  his  hand. 

Alf  shook  his  head. 

"No!"  he  said,  drawing  back.  "All  the  same — if 
things  wasn't  the  way  they  are — split  me  if  I  don't 
think  I  could  feel  a  sort  o'  likin'  fer  you !  I — I  wish 
you  wasn't  straight  goods,  for  then  I  could  kill  you 
and  be  done  with  it.  See  here!  You  knew  you 
couldn't  beat  me.  Why  did  you  stand  up  an'  let 
me  bash  you  the  way  I  did?" 

' '  Why  not  ? "  said  Philip.  ' '  We  fought— and  I  lost. 
That's  all." 

"No!"  said  Alf  between  his  teeth,  "you've  won! 
I  think  you're  the  sort  of  bloke  that  always  does 
win — in  the  end." 

He  straightened  himself. 

"Clear  out,  Mister  Mottisfont!"  he  said  quietly. 
"I — I'm  all  right  now — I've  got  meself  in  hand. 
Go,  before  I  cut  loose  agen !  There's  the  door.  And, " 
he  added  briefly,  "take  care  my  uncle,  Sam  Taggart, 
don't  see  you!" 

"Why?"  said  Philip,  as  he  passed  out. 

"Because,"  replied  Alf,  a  gleam  of  humour  stealing 
from  his  eye,  "he'd  nab  you  an'  train  you  for  the 
Ring.  You're  fair  thrown  away  at  the  Bar,  you  are ! ' ' 

Philip  strode  away  down  Billiter  Street — the  win- 


THE  VICTOR  327 

ner.  But  there  was  a  lump  in  his  throat,  and  his 
breath  came  short. 

"I  have  met,"  he  said  to  himself,  "a  much  better 
man  than  I  am." 

Alf  Blodmore,  having  capped  tragedy  with  a  lop- 
sided jest,  went  indoors  to  face  alone,  in  the  gas-lit 
room,  the  thing  that  he  had  done. 

"It  ain't  exactly,"  said  Emmie  Clegg  regretfully, 
"what  you  would  call  a  swagger  turn-out.  Not  even 
a  white  buttonhole  for  the  driver." 

Joan,  sitting  motionless  with  her  back  against  the 
dusty  cushions,  made  no  reply.  An  ancient  four- 
wheeled  cab  was  conveying  the  two  girls  at  a  foot- 
pace through  the  yellow  fog.  The  time  was  nine-fifty 
in  the  morning,  yet  the  street  lamps  were  lit,  and 
hardly  dispelled  the  murky  twilight. 

"And  the  horse,"  continued  Emmie,  "looks  as  if 
he'd  been  buried  an'  dug  up  again.  I'm  sorry  the 
turn-out  ain't  a  bit  more  bridal,  Joan,  but  it's  the 
best  I  could  get.  That's  the  worst  of  these  hasty 
marriages.  Still,  the  wedding's  the  thing — that's 
what  I  always  say." 

"Emmie,"  said  Joan  faintly,  "when  did — when 
did  Alf  tell  you  where  I  was?" 

"Never  you  mind  about  that,  dear,"  said  Emmie. 
"I'm  running  this  show,  an'  I  don't  hold  with  a  lot 
of  explanations.  There  ain't  time  for  'em  either — 
we're  nearly  there.  Wouldn't  you  like  a  touch  up 
with  a  bit  of  swansdown?  I've  got  one  in  my  stock- 
ing. A  bride  ought  to  be  a  bit  pale,  but  you're 
overdoin'  it." 


328    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

Joan  made  an  inarticulate  noise  and  groped  for 
the  door  handle. 

"Stop!"  she  whispered.  "Emmie — Emmie,  I 
can't  go  on!  I'm  weaker  than  I  thought.  I  cannot 
face  it!  I  can't!" 

Emmie  removed  the  hand. 

"You  got  to,"  she  said  with  dreadful  determina- 
tion. "When  I  start  out  to  get  anybody  married, 
they've  got  to  be  married.  You  stand  on  me." 

"Tell  him  to  stop!"  said  Joan  faintly.  "I  want 
to  get  out.  I'd  rather  walk." 

"Not  me,"  said  Emmie.  "I  don't  trust  you. 
You'd  be  off  like  a  hare,  an'  me  chasin*  you  round  a 
vegetable  barrow,  an'  both  of  us  late  for  the  cere- 
mony. I  thought,"  she  added  quietly,  "you  was  one 
to  keep  your  word." 

Joan  roused  herself  with  a  little  gasp.  There  was 
such  a  look  of  terror  in  her  eyes  that  Emmie  glanced 
at  her,  and  laid  a  firm  hand  on  her  wrist. 

"Joan,  dear,  get  a  hold  on  yourself,"  she  said 
quietly.  "I  ain't  bein'  cruel — I'm  just  gaggin',  to 
wake  you  out  o'  that  dead-alive  state  you've  got 
into.  Look  at  me  as  angry  as  you  like — it's  good  for 
you.  I'll  send  you  through.  You've  played  the  fool, 
my  gal,  an'  you  need  sensible  folks  to  keep  you 
straight.  I'll  tell  you  one  thing." 

"What?" 

"It  ain't  goin'  to  be  as  bad  as  you  think.' 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  said  Joan  weakly. 

"Don't  you?"  replied  Emmie. 

The  cab  stopped.  Joan,  perfectly  dazed,  found 
herself  hurried  across  the  pavement,  through  an  open 


THE  VICTOR  329 

entrance,  into  the  bare  hall  of  a  house.  A  man  was 
waiting  there,  a  dim  figure  in  the  fog.  Emmie 
spoke  a  word  to  him,  and  passed  on  through  the 
swing  doors  beyond. 

Joan  remained  behind.  She  recognized  Alf's 
overcoat  and  cap,  though  she  could  scarcely  see  the 
wearer's  face.  A  storm  rose  in  her  heart.  Suddenly 
Joan  felt  her  will  give  way  utterly. 

"Alf ! "  she  said,  trembling,  ' '  I  am  here.  I  thought 
I  could  do  this — but  I  can't !  Will  you  not  let  me  go ? 
And  yet — if  you  keep  me  to  it — I  will  not  break  my 
word." 

"No,"  he  answered,  "you  shall  not  break  your 
word." 

Joan  shrank  back  with  a  little  cry  of  fear. 

"Philip!"  she  said,  panic-stricken.  "What  are 
you  doing  here?" 

He  was  between  her  and  the  door.  His  eyes  looked 
into  hers  with  an  infinite  tenderness;  there  was  a 
half  smile  on  his  lips. 

"I  am  wearing  the  coat  of  a  rare  good  fellow,"  he 
said,  "but  I  am  just — Philip." 

"Where  is  Alf?"  she  said  trembling. 

"Alf,"  he  said  quietly,  "all  honour  to  him,  bids 
you  go  where  your  heart  is.  Where  is  that,  Joan?" 

She  trembled  violently.  His  hand  was  on  her 
shoulder,  steady  and  firm. 

"Some  day,"  he  said,  "you  shall  understand.  It 
is  a  good  story,  of  a  good  man.  In  his  place,  Lord 
help  me,  I  could  not  have  given  you  up!  They  are 
waiting  to  marry  us,  Joan." 

Her  face  flamed  pink,  and  grew  pale  again. 


330    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

"Now— after  this?"  she  whispered.  "Philip!"— 
she  tried  to  draw  away — "I  will  not!  I  dare  not!" 

"But  I  dare,"  he  said,  "and  I  will.    Come!" 

Power  of  will  and  speech  failed  her.  From  that 
moment  she  realized  only  vaguely  what  was  happen- 
ing. The  passage  was  left  behind;  she  stood  by 
Philip's  side  before  a  desk  in  a  dark,  drab  room. 
There  was  only  one  colour-point  in  the  room — the 
flaming  red  hair  of  Emmie,  who  was  close  by  her,  a 
silent,  prim  little  witness. 

The  Registrar,  an  elderly  man  with  features  like 
parchment  and  a  pair  of  steel-rimmed  spectacles, 
peered  with  a  kindly  wonder  at  the  face  of  the  bride. 
To  Joan  it  was  all  like  some  amazing  dream.  A  mist  of 
words  reached  her.  And  gradually  the  words  took  shape 
and  meaning.  She  heard  her  own  voice  answering : 

"I,  Joan,  take  thee,  Philip " 

The  drab  room  seemed  to  fill  with  golden  light. 
A  holy  joy  welled  up  in  Joan's  heart;  her  voice,  that 
had  faltered,  grew  clear  and  strong: 

".    .    .  To  be  my  lawful  wedded  husband  .    .    . " 

Outside  the  fog  was  lifting;  a  straggling  sun-ray, 
the  richer  for  its  shroud  of  thinning  smoke,  stole 
through  the  window  and  fell  upon  the  couple  who 
stood  with  bowed  heads. 

Slowly  the  wonder-dream  came  to  an  end.  Joan 
heard  the  kindly  old  man  with  the  steel  spectacles 
talking  in  a  subdued  but  heartening  voice.  A  pen 
was  in  her  fingers;  she  signed  with  a  steady  hand. 
The  room  faded,  she  found  herself  in  the  white- 
washed passage.  Philip  drew  her  to  him  and  looked 
into  her  eyes. 


THE  VICTOR  331 

1 '  My  wife ! "  he  said.    ' '  Joan,  are  you  happy  ? ' ' 

"Happy!"  she  breathed.  "Philip,  I  am  yours — 
yours!" 

"Mine,"  he  said,  "from  the  beginning,  now,  and 
for  all  time.  Out  into  the  world  together,  Joan,  you 
and  I.  The  greatest  gift  in  life  is  ours;  we  shall  love 
each  other  as  long  as  there  is  love  under  heaven. 
Joan — my  Joan ! " 

He  pressed  his  lips  to  hers,  and  released  her,  lead- 
ing her  to  the  entrance.  Emmie  came  out  swiftly 
through  the  swing  doors,  and,  taking  Joan  by  the 
hands,  kissed  her  on  the  forehead. 

"Take  her  away,  Philip ! "  she  said,  "right  away  out 
of  it  all — an'  God  bless  you  both!" 

She  held  her  hand  out  suddenly  to  him.  He 
gripped  the  freckled  paw  and  held  it. 

"Thank  you,  little  friend,"  he  said. 

Joan  found  herself  led  quickly  across  the  pave- 
ment. The  old  four-wheeler  was  gone;  in  its  place 
stood  a  small,  neat,  closed  car,  with  the  driver  sitting 
in  front  like  a  graven  image. 

From  out  the  thinning  fog  a  tall,  clean-shaven 
man  who  looked  like  a  superior  type  of  loafer,  came 
suddenly  forward  and  opened  the  door  of  the  car. 
Joan  was  too  far  immersed  in  wonderland  to  notice 
him,  but  Philip,  after  helping  her  into  the  car,  looked 
up  and  recognized  Goodenough,  the  footman  of 
Knayth.  His  face  was  haggard  and  white,  but  there 
was  a  light  of  triumph  in  his  deep-set  eyes. 

"You!"  said  Philip  slowly.  He  stared  at  the 
ex-footman.  "What  are  you  doing  here — honest 
man?" 


332    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

"I  have  found  what  I  sought.  I  owe  you,  sir,  a 
deep  apology,"  said  the  footman  with  bowed  head. 
He  held  the  door  a  little  wider.  Philip,  utterly 
puzzled,  got  in. 

Goodenough  closed  the  door  quietly  and  watched 
the  car  drive  away. 

"Thank  God  for  this,"  said  Goodenough  under 
his  breath. 

Emmie  Clegg  came  forth  from  the  registry  office 
singing.  She  saw  the  tall  man  standing  on  the  curb, 
and  thought  she  heard  what  he  said. 

"Hullo!"  she  said,  "who's  this?" 

Goodenough,  without  looking  at  her  or  moving, 
replied  with  two  lines  from  a  singer  not  unknown 
to  fame: 

"  Damned  from  here  to  Eternity, 
Lord,  have  mercy  on  such  as  we.  .  .  ." 

Emmie  stared,  and  with  her  hands  on  her  hips 
planted  herself  right  in  front  of  him. 

4 '  I  know  your  face ! ' '  she  said.    ' '  Who  are  you  ? ' ' 

"The  Peri  without  the  Gates,  madam,"  he  replied 
gravely. 

44  You  look  more  like  a  ghost,"  said  Emmie. 

She  felt  in  her  purse. 

44 Stand  yourself  a  bit  of  weddin'  cake,  Peary," 
she  said.  "This  is  a  joy-bells  day,  although  you 
mayn't  know  it.  Here's  a  bob  for  you." 

The  tall  man  touched  his  hat  humbly,  took  the 
shilling,  and  walked  away  into  the  fog. 


THE  VICTOR  333 

"Say,"  remarked  Agnes  Tallbois  serenely,  as  she 
stepped  out  of  a  first-class  carriage  at  Waterloo 
Station,  "haven't  I  made  this  town  hump  itself?" 

"You  have,  indeed,"  said  Drummond;  "as  the 
inspiration  of  special  editions  of  the  Press,  Agnes,  I 
should  say  you  hold  all  records.  The  second  Tallbois 
Peerage  Claim  is  the  biggest  sensation  since  the  War." 

"And  you're  sure,"  she  persisted,  "I've  got  a 
certainty?" 

"An  absolute  certainty." 

"Aren't  you  glad,  Harold?"  she  said  softly. 

"For  your  sake,  Agnes,"  he  answered  in  a  lower 
voice,  "I  am  more  glad  than  I  express  in  words." 

Her  dark  eyes  scanned  his  face  a  little  wistfully. 

"  I  guess  I'm  glad  for  yours,  Harold,"  she  murmured. 

The  understanding  between  Agnes  Tallbois  and 
Drummond  had  in  a  week  blossomed  forth  with 
tropical  luxuriance.  Agnes  was  not  given  to  being 
secretive  about  her  preferences;  Drummond,  though 
in  many  ways  she  jarred  upon  him,  seemed  drawn 
to  her  as  by  a  lodestone.  The  magnet,  doubtless, 
was  of  gold;  yet  her  bizarre  nature  and  tigerish 
beauty  had  a  fascination  for  Drummond  that 
mounted  to  his  head  like  strong  wine. 

"You'll  steer  me,  won't  you?"  she  said  quietly. 
"I  know  there's  lots  of  things  I'm  not  wise  to.  And 
I  trust  Callaghan  an'  his  gang  as  far  as  I  can  sling 
them.  But  you — you're  different.  You  say  I  can't 
lose  this  case.  When  I've  won  it,  you'll  come  an' 
help  me,  down  at  Knayth.  I  like  Knayth.  The  real 
goods — same  as  you  read  about.  But  I'll  make 
Knayth  hum!" 


334   THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

"  You  have  been  to  Knayth  Abbey ! "  he  exclaimed. 

"Didn't  you  know?"  Agnes  laughed.  She  told 
him  in  pungent  language  of  her  flying  visit  and  the 
interview  with  Joan  Tallbois.  It  lost  nothing  in  the 
telling.  Drummond  looked  amazed. 

11 1  had  to  see  that  girl,"  said  Agnes,  "and  hand  her 
the  mitt.  She'd  have  held  me  off  for  keeps  if  it 
hadn't  been  for  your  crowd.  Can't  you  guess  how 
she  gets  my  goat — the  pink-faced  doll  with  her 
staring  blue  eyes!  She  looked  at  me  as  if  I  was  a — " 
Agnes's  white  teeth  clicked  together,  and  her  dark 
pupils  blazed.  "When  I  don't  like  people,  Harold, 
I— don't  like  'em." 

"By  Jove!"  said  Drummond.  "I  wonder  if  that 
was  the  reason  she  cleared  out?" 

"Has  she  done  that?" 

"Yes.  She  has  cut  the  whole  thing,  and  gone 
back  to  the  riff-raff  she  used  to  live  with,  somewhere 
south  of  the  Thames.  Callaghan  has  told  me. 
That's  all  he  knows — he  doesn't  take  much  interest 
in  her  now.  By  the  way,  you  have  nothing  to  fear 
from  her  whatever;  her  lawyers  are  only  putting  up 
a  formal  defence  to  the  case." 

"Quit,  eh?  She  told  me  she  would,  but  I  didn't 
believe  it.  Though  she  knew  she'd  got  no  show,  of 
course.  I  haven't  done  with  her  yet!  So  it's  the 
sidewalk  for  her,  is  it  ?  "  The  girl  chuckled.  ' '  Say- 
has  she  got  a  feller?" 

"A  what?  Oh — yes,"  said  Drummond.  "Mottis- 
font — the  barrister  who  won  her  case  for  her  in  the 
House  of  Lords.  A  well-known  K.C.  They  were  to 
have  been  married  at  St.  George's  next  week." 


THE  VICTOR  335 

"Huh!    A  swell,  eh?    Rich?" 

"He  would  have  been  as  the  husband  of  Lady 
Tallbois,"  said  Drummond  drily.  "A  clever  fellow. 
A  climber.  I'm  afraid  you've  upset  that  little  ar- 
rangement, Agnes." 

Agnes's  expression  changed.  She  stared  straight 
before  her. 

"Gee!"  she  muttered.  "That's  tough  for  her, 
ain't  it  ?  It — it  sure  is ! " 

Drummond  looked  at  Agnes  in  momentary  sur- 
prise. But  they  were  passing  through  the  ticket 
gate  at  the  moment,  and  just  then  he  caught  sight 
of  a  smartly  dressed  woman  buying  a  paper  at  the 
bookstall.  It  was  Hilda  Detchmere. 

"By  Jove!"  murmured  Drummond.  He  turned 
to  his  companion.  "Agnes,  here  is  precisely  one  of 
the  people  you  need  to  know.  Will  you  excuse  me 
while  I  speak  to  her  a  moment?" 

"Sure,"  said  Agnes  briefly.  She  watched  with 
interest  while  Drummond  stepped  across  and  spoke 
to  the  girl  in  the  silver-fox  cloak. 

"Well,  Hilda,"  he  said  quietly,  "have  I  made 
good?  There  is  a  little  wager  between  us,  I  think, 
which  you  will  not  be  sorry  to  have  lost." 

"Harold!  You?"  said  Hilda,  under  her  breath. 
They  drew  clear  of  the  crowd;  there  was  a  sparkle 
in  Hilda's  eyes.  "Yes,  you  have  won,  indeed,  and 
never  shall  I  pay  a  debt  more  gladly.  You  are 
wonderful!  How  did  you  know  of  it?  Was  it  your 
doing?  But  I  must  not  ask  you  questions." 

"For  the  moment,"  said  Drummond,  "you  must 
be  content  with  what  you  see  in  the  newspapers. 


336    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

The  case  comes  on  shortly.  It  is  an  absolute  cer- 
tainty for  the  new  claimant — Agnes  Tallbois." 

"What  is  she  like?"  asked  Hilda  quickly.  "You 
have  seen  her?" 

"She  is  here,  in  the  station.  May  I  bring  her  to 
you,  Hilda?" 

"But  you  are  priceless!"  said  Hilda.  "By  all 
means;  it  is  just  what  would  interest  me."  She  hesi- 
tated. "Is  she  very ?" 

"Yes,"  said  Drummond  drily,  "she  is,  rather.  I 
need  your  help,  Hilda.  One  moment,  and  I  will " 

"Stop!  What  of  Joan?"  said  Hilda  under  her 
breath.  "The  adorable  Lady  Tallbois — our  late 
social  star?  That  is  what  I  want  to  hear!" 

Agnes  had  quietly  joined  them,  but  neither  of 
them  noticed  her. 

"Fled,"  said  Drummond  briefly.  "Bolted— 
wouldn't  face  it.  Really,  the  only  thing  for  her  to  do. 
Wounded  dove,  you  know — hide  her  bleeding  heart, 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  Gone  back  to  the  slums 
of  Lambeth.  Straight  from  Knayth  to  the  gutter — 
is  that  good  enough  for  you,  Hilda?" 

Hilda  Detchmere  drew  a  deep  breath.  She  would 
have  given  much  to  be  able  to  answer  the  question, 
and  say  what  she  really  did  think.  Waterloo  Station 
was  an  inconvenient  place  in  which  to  receive  news 
so  stupendous. 

"And  Mottisfont?"  she  murmured. 

Drummond  laughed. 

"A  little  disappointing  for  Mottisfont.  Kept  well 
out  of  the  way.  What  we  should  all  do,  Hilda,  in 
his  place.  Wise  man,  Mottisfont." 


THE  VICTOR  337 

"Ah-h-h-h!"  said  Hilda,  and  she  began  to  laugh, 
quietly,  gently,  in  the  most  perfectly  self-possessed 
manner.  And  then  she  looked  straight  before  her,  and 
seemed  to  become  suddenly  petrified.  Drummond 
followed  her  gaze. 

Joan  Tallbois  herself,  in  a  simple  linen  frock,  was 
passing  within  twenty  feet  of  the  pair  at  that  mo- 
ment. She  saw  neither  of  them.  The  crowds,  the 
noise,  the  bustling  life  around,  did  not  seem  to  exist 
for  her.  There  was  a  wonderful  dreamy  happiness 
in  her  eyes,  as  she  passed  through  towards  the  Dover 
boat-train. 

Behind  her  came  Philip,  carrying  a  bag,  and  fol- 
lowed by  a  porter  with  a  truck  of  luggage.  Drum- 
mond  and  Miss  Detchmere,  after  the  first  shock  of 
amazement,  glanced  quickly  at  each  other. 

Philip  paused  only  long  enough  to  toss  a  coin  onto 
the  bookstall  and  snatch  up  a  paper.  His  eye  fell 
on  Hilda,  and  he  raised  his  hat. 

"Philip!"  she  ejaculated,  as  if  speech  was  wrung 
from  her.  "Where  are  you  going?" 

"On  my  wedding- tour,"  he  answered.  Hilda's 
face  was  colourless  and  rigid. 

"On  your — what?''  she  gasped 

"Joan  Tallbois  and  I  were  married  this  morning," 
he  said.  ' '  I  accept  your  congratulations.  Thank  you 
so  much." 

And  raising  his  hat  again  courteously,  Philip 
strode  forward  onto  the  platform  as  though  the 
earth  and  the  fullness  thereof  were  his. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

THE  SACRIFICE 

' '  HAPPY,  Phil  ? ' '  said  Joan  drowsily.    ' '  Quite  sure  ?" 

"Don't  I  look  happy?"  murmured  Philip  Mottis- 
font. 

Joan  lifted  her  head,  which  was  reclining  comfort- 
ably against  Philip's  shoulder,  and  looked  up  into 
his  face. 

"You  do,"  she  said  thoughtfully.  "You  look 
happier  than  I  should  have  thought  it  possible  for 
anybody  to  be — except  me.  I  can't  understand  it. 
You  ought  to  be  perfectly  miserable." 

Philip  twined  a  chestnut  curl  over  his  finger  and 
kissed  it.  They  were  sitting  among  purple-tinted 
bracken  in  the  autumn  sunshine  upon  the  hill  above 
Arques-la-Battaille,  which  is  one  of  the  fairest  pros- 
pects in  Normandy.  A  little  river  wound  through 
the  green  plain  below  like  a  turquoise  ribbon. 

"It's  so  simple,"  said  Philip.  "The  great  thing  is 
to  know  exactly  what  one  wants.  When  you're  sure 
of  that  you  just  go  straight  ahead,  never  turning 
aside  until  you've  got  it.  Whatever  gets  in  the  way 
has  to  be  flattened  out.  That's  all."  He  took  her 
face  gently  between  his  hands  and  smiled  at  her. 
"I  wanted  you,  Joan,  more  than  anything  else  that 
ever  happened  on  earth  from  the  first  day  I  saw  you, 

338 


THE  SACRIFICE  339 

dear.     And  I  have  you — and  I  will  never  let  you 

go." 

He  kissed  her  gently,  and  smoothed  back  her  hair. 

"And  you've  never  a  regret?"  she  whispered.  "I 
couldn't  be  happy,  Philip,  if  you  were  not." 

Philip  held  her  to  him  and  told  her,  for  the  hun- 
dredth time,  what  her  heart  thirsted  to  hear — what 
she  knew,  yet  could  never  be  told  often  enough.  Nor 
did  he  ever  weary  of  telling  it.  In  the  old  days  at 
Knayth  she  never  knew  how  wonderfully  Philip 
could  make  love.  Joan  gave  a  little  sigh  of  utter 
contentment. 

"It  isn't  as  if  I  deserved  any  of  it,"  she  murmured. 
' '  I  know  what  I  am  and  what  ought  to  happen  to  me. 
Sometimes  I  wish  you'd  scold  me,  Philip,  or  beat 
me  a  little." 

Mottisfont  laughed. 

"You  always  treat  me  as  if  I  were  perfect,"  she 
complained.  "If  you  knew " 

"No,  you  aren't  quite  perfect,"  he  laughed. 
"You'd  be  rather  dull  if  you  were." 

"Ah!  You're  going  to  scold  me  at  last,"  said 
Joan.  "Go  on,  Philip.  What  have  I  done?" 

"Well,"  he  said  twinkling,  "you  tried  to  break  a 
very  solemn  promise  and  get  out  of  the  unpleasant 
business  of  marrying  me;  you  gave  me  quite  a  lot 
of  worry  and  running  around.  However,  that 
doesn't  matter " 

"I  thought  it  was  best  for  you,  Philip." 

"Best  for  me!  Great  heavens!  But  then  there 
was  Alf  Blodmore.  You  did  really  almost  deserve 
a  little  beating  for  that,  Joan.  You  didn't  treat  old 


340    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

Alf  too  well.    One  of  the  best  fellows  I've  ever  known." 

"I  suppose  I  didn't,"  murmured  Joan.  "I  ought 
to  have  let  him  alone;  he  was  forgetting  all  about 
such  a  little  fool  as  I  was.  I  know  how  good  Alf  is 
at  heart." 

"I  wonder  if  you  do.  Well,  he's  gone  back  to  the 
Ring,  and  I  think  he'll  hammer  the  memory  of  it 
out  of  himself.  He's  tough  enough.  A  splendid 
chap.  I  wish  I  could  do  something  for  him.  But  a 
man  can't  help  another  man  in  a  case  like  that.  It 
would  be  an  insult  to  try." 

"You  never  told  me  what  really  happened." 

"He  gave  me,"  chuckled  Philip,  "the  best  licking 
I  ever  had  in  my  life." 

Joan  did  not  rest  till  she  had  forced  him  to  tell 
her  something  of  what  occurred  at  Billiter  Street,  in 
the  whitewashed  room  behind  the  shop.  Philip  re- 
lated it  in  such  a  way  as  to  hold  up  his  rival  for  a 
mirror  of  chivalry  and  honour.  Alf  Blodmore  shone 
forth  from  that  tale  as  the  perfect  knight.  Joan's 
eyes  glistened  and  grew  wet.  But  her  arms  tightened 
round  her  husband. 

"He  was  splendid,"  she  whispered,  "and  yet — I 
know  who  won  that  fight — and  why.  You  went 
through  all  that  for  me?" 

"I  like  fighting,"  said  Philip,  "when  there's  some- 
thing worth  fighting  for.  I  met  my  Waterloo,  yet  I 
got  both  less  and  more  than  I  deserved.  Strange, 
isn't  it?"  He  took  her  by  the  hands,  and  raised  her 
to  her  feet.  "Let's  get  back  to  the  house,  Joan. 
Do  you  know  we  have  been  in  this  little  paradise  of 
ours  ten  whole  weeks?  I  only  realized  it  today." 


THE  SACRIFICE  341 

"It  has  seemed  like  ten  hours,"  sighed  Joan. 

"Not  that,  to  me.  And  there's  thejacteur  coming 
up  the  hill.  I  expect  he'll  have  the  London  papers." 

It  was,  in  fact,  the  French  postman  who  arrived 
a  little  before  Joan  and  Philip  at  the  pretty  chalet 
on  the  slope  which  was  their  headquarters.  A 
neatly  dressed  bonne  was  setting  out  afternoon  tea 
on  the  oak  table  in  the  sitting-room — a  concession 
to  the  habits  of  the  mad  but  delightful  English. 

The  London  newspapers  had  arrived.  Philip 
picked  up  one  of  them,  and  was  about  to  open  it. 
But  he  paused,  and  hesitated.  He  knew  too  well 
what  he  was  likely  to  see.  And  Joan  was  in  the  room. 

England  was  no  place  for  Joan,  just  then.  The 
Tallbois  Peerage  Claim  had  moved  rapidly.  Already, 
for  some  weeks,  the  case  had  been  before  the  courts. 

Philip  Mottisfont,  K.C.,  had  taken  no  part  in  it 
whatever.  He  had  consulted  with  Langley,  Joan's 
solicitor,  before  he  left  England — before  he  even 
found  Joan  at  Lambeth.  He  had  convinced  himself 
that  the  De  Castra-Tallbois  claim  was  genuine — that 
the  issue  was  perfectly  simple  and  indefensible. 

It  would  still  have  been  possible,  by  legal  jugglery, 
to  throw  delays  and  obstacles  in  the  way.  But  Joan 
had  already  refused  to  sanction  that,  and  it  was  the 
only  honest  course.  Mr.  Langley  had  her  case  in 
hand,  and  a  counsel  had  been  briefed — though  with 
no  hope  of  success,  unless  by  a  miracle. 

"For  me,  of  all  men  living,"  said  Philip  to  himself, 
"it  has  been  impossible  to  appear  in  this  case. 
Utterly  impossible.  Joan  understands." 

He  snicked  off  the  cover  suddenly  with  his  finger. 


342    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

A  big,  black  headline  on  the  newspaper  shouted 
aloud  for  his  attention: 

TALLBOIS  CASE  DECISION 

THE  NEW  CLAIMANT  WINS 

The  entire  page  was  taken  up  with  the  case; 
everything  was  given  in  the  fullest  detail.  A  flaring 
portrait  of  Agnes  De  Castra,  Viscountess  Tallbois  of 
Knayth,  occupied  the  centre.  Eightet  n  days  the  case 
had  lasted ;  the  court  had  taken  no  chances  this  time. 
And  it  had  found  the  claim  of  Agnes  Tallbois  proved 
beyond  all  shadow  of  possibility  of  a  doubt.  She 
was  the  first-born  and  only  legitimate  child  of 
William  Travers  Tallbois. 

The  gentlemen  of  the  Press  had  "spread  them- 
selves" to  some  purpose.  There  were  interviews, 
comments,  descriptions ;  all  in  broad-splashed  colours. 
There  was  even  half  a  column  devoted  to  Philip  and 
Joan  Mottisfont. 

They  were  alone  in  the  little  room.  Joan,  wonder- 
ing why  Philip  was  so  silent,  came  and  looked  over 
his  shoulder.  She  saw  the  headlines.  A  sharp  sob 
rose  in  her  throat. 

"It  is  over,  then,"  she  said.    "It  is  finished." 

"Finished,"  replied  Philip  quietly,  "settled  finally. 
Nothing  could  alter  it,  Joan;  we  knew  that  it  must 
come." 

"Let  me  see!"  she  said,  reaching  for  the  paper. 
"Let  me  read  it!" 

He  looked  at  her  and  saw  how  pale  she  was.  The 
old,  feverish  gleam  was  in  her  eyes,  that  he  had 


THE  SACRIFICE  343 

almost  forgotten.  Deliberately  Philip  crushed  up 
the  newspaper  between  his  big  hands  and  thrust  it 
into  the  fire,  where  it  caught  and  flared  up  the  chim- 
ney. Then  he  took  her  in  his  arms  and  held  her  tightly. 

"Does  it  hurt  you,  darling?"  he  whispered.  "Is 
it  very  hard  to  bear?  I  am  so  sorry  for  you,  Joan — 
so  sorry,  dear." 

' '  For  me  ? ' '  she  said.  "  It  is  less  than  nothing.  But 
for  you!"  She  stole  a  swift  glance  at  his  face.  "It 
was  for  you  I  wanted  it  so.  That  is  all." 

"I  care  for  it,"  he  said,  steadily  and  with  sure 
conviction,  "as  much  as  I  do  for  those  ashes  in  the 
grate — so  much  and  no  more." 

"Ah,  you  are  good  to  me — you  are  good  to  me!" 
she  said  wildly.  "  Never  was  there  any  one  like  you, 
Philip.  Down  falls  the  curtain  on  it  all,  then — we 
neither  of  us  care.  I  am  too  happy  for  the  world 
to  touch  me." 

For  some  time  there  was  silence.  When  Philip 
spoke  again  his  voice  took  a  grimmer  note. 

"There  is  one  thing,"  he  said,  "that  remains,  and 
which  rouses  the  most  intense  bitterness  in  me.  It 
is  the  knowledge  of  all  that  misery  which  was  caused 
you  through  the  action  of  that  scoundrel  who  called 
himself  Bell,  and  his  confederate.  Though  there's 
never  a  jot  of  proof  of  it,  I  believe  they  knew  your 
position  from  the  first.  There  has  been  vile  work 
behind  all  this,  Joan." 

She  did  not  answer.  His  bitterness  found  no  echo 
in  her.  She  did  not  seem  to  care. 

"I  will  not  rest,"  he  said,  "till  I  have  brought 
those  men  to  justice  and  punishment." 


344    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

"Must  you?"  she  said  slowly.  "I  thought  all 
that  was  done  with.  I  should  have  to  go  into  the 
witness-box  I  suppose.  All  the  old  wretchedness 
and  pain  will  be  raked  up  again."  He  felt  her  trem- 
bling. "I  wonder  if  I  can  stand  it,  Philip." 

He  was  brought  up  with  a  round  turn. 

"That  is  an  obstacle,"  he  said  under  his  breath. 
"I  will  never  let  you  suffer,  Joan.  Your  happiness 
is  my  first  care.  But  I  shall  find  a  way — when  we 
return  to  England." 

"Must  you?"  she  said  dully.  A  sense  of  forebod- 
ing crept  over  her.  Suddenly  Philip  kissed  her  and 
laughed. 

"Tea!"  he  said,  guiding  her  to  the  table.  "Come 
on,  the  tea  is  spoiling.  Away  with  care!  These  are 
our  halcyon  days." 

He  banished  all  trouble  in  the  masterful  way  he 
had,  and  in  an  hour  Joan  had  forgotten  the  passing 
shadow  as  though  it  had  never  been.  She  asked  him 
no  more  questions.  The  lost  peerage  and  all  con- 
nected with  it  had  dropped  out  of  sight. 

There  was  another  fortnight  of  sunshine  and  hap- 
piness. To  whatever  plans  there  might  be  for  the 
future,  Joan  gave  no  thought  or  care.  She  was  con- 
tent to  leave  everything  to  Philip,  serene  in  the  con- 
viction of  his  strength.  Under  the  shelter  of  his  love 
there  was  safety  and  peace.  It  was  a  blissful  sensa- 
tion, such  as  she  had  never  known  in  the  brief  days 
of  splendour. 

At  last  Joan  and  Philip  returned  to  England,  reach- 
ing London  amid  rain,  wind,  and  darkness.  They 
arrived  at  a  little  furnished  house  in  Highgate,  which 


THE  SACRIFICE  345 

Philip  had  secured  some  time  before  by  telegram. 
It  was  within  half  an  hour  of  everywhere  by  tube, 
and  was  simple,  neat,  and  cosy;  a  solitary  maid  in 
attendance.  Joan,  who  insisted  on  relieving  the  maid 
of  most  of  her  duties,  was  delighted  with  the  place. 

Five  days  passed  there,  uneventful  but  pleasant 
days  for  Joan.  Philip  spent  nearly  all  his  time  with 
her;  twice  he  was  away  for  several  hours;  she  guessed 
he  was  at  the  Temple,  but  felt  that  he  did  not  wish 
to  be  questioned,  and  she  was  quite  content,  for  to  all 
appearance  he  was  in  the  best  of  spirits.  Joan  did 
not  care  to  make  any  journey  to  the  West  End;  she 
did  some  shopping  in  Highgate.  She  wrote  to  Emmie 
Clegg — her  husband  urged  her  to  do  so — and  asked 
her  to  come  and  see  them,  where  a  warm  welcome 
awaited  her. 

On  the  day  following  his  arrival,  Philip  went  to 
Scotland  Yard.  He  was  received  by  one  of  the 
highest  officials  of  that  sanctuary — Commissioner 
Somers  Mervyn.  Mervyn,  who  was  a  friend  of  long- 
standing, gripped  Philip  sympathetically  by  the 
hand. 

"I  presume  you  do  not  know  how  every  decent 
man  admires  you,  Mottisfont,"  he  said.  "But — 
why  go  into  retirement,  as  you  have  done?" 

"For  the  present,"  said  Philip  quietly,  "no  choice 
is  left  me." 

Mervyn  nodded. 

"  I  got  your  letter  from  Dieppe,"  he  said.  "  I  have 
acted  upon  it.  There  seems  to  me  no  doubt  that 
your  wife  has  been  infamously  treated  by  that  man, 
Vaille,  and  his  obvious  confederate,  Theophilus  Bell, 


346    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

the  shady  lawyer.  I  believe  there  has  been  criminal 
conspiracy  here;  greater  even  than  you  suggest.  I 
fear  it  will  be  immensely  difficult  to  prove;  I  only 
wish  I  had  known  earlier.  I  suppose  Mrs.  Mottisfont 
was  loath  to  face  the  publicity." 

"I  am  equally  loath  for  her;  I  want  you  to  avoid 
that  as  far  as  you  may,  Mervyn.  But  justice  must 
be  done;  the  thing  is  too  infamous.  What  do  you 
know  of  these  two  men?" 

"That  they  are,  we  believe,  efficient  tools  in  the 
hand  of  a  much  bigger  personality — one  Callaghan, 
who  is  suspected  of  being  the  power  in  the  back- 
ground of  several  very  ugly  mysteries  which — we  are 
speaking  in  confidence — have  baffled  the  police. 
There  is  a  touch  of  genius  in  Callaghan.  We  have 
never  been  able  to  get  a  rag  of  evidence  against  him. 
Yet,  with  this  last  affair  in  hand,  I  would  have 
arrested  him  and  the  other  pair  as  well.  I  believe 
it  might  be  the  means  of  bringing  not  only  this,  but 
worse  things  home  to  them." 

"Then  you  have  not  arrested  them?" 

"You  touch  a  raw  spot,  Mottisfont — I  still  speak 
in  confidence.  Not  only  Callaghan,  but  Vaille  and 
Bell  have  eluded  us.  They  have  given  us  the  slip; 
completely  disappeared,  and  till  now  I  can  find  no 
trace  of  them.  It  looks  as  if  they  were  already 
aware  of  what  was  in  the  wind.  If  Callaghan  is, 
indeed,  a  master  of  crime,  his  organization  must  be 
amazing.  But  we  shall  have  them  yet.  Give  me  all 
details  of  what  you  know  in  your  wife's  case." 

Mottisfont  did  so.  The  recital  took  some  time, 
and  the  young  K.C.  made  his  points  very  clearly. 


THE  SACRIFICE  347 

Mervyn  took  full  notes,  and  at  the  end  he  whistled 
softly. 

' '  Let  me  lay  my  hands  on  Callaghan,  and  his  career 
is  finished,"  he  said,  and  he  looked  still  more  sympa- 
thetically at  Philip.  "You're  in  a  tight  place,  too, 
Mottisfont,  though  only  in  the  civil  courts.  There's 
an  easy  way  out  for  you." 

"Is  there?"  said  Philip  grimly,  rising.  "I  see 
none." 

"At  least,  I  hope  to  avenge  you.  Keep  in  close 
touch  with  me,  and  we  should  soon  have  news." 


Philip  went  to  his  chambers,  and  returned  to 
Highgate  in  the  evening.  He  said  nothing  about 
the  Scotland  Yard  interview  to  his  wife. 

It  was  a  few  days  later,  however,  that  Joan's 
watchful  eye  detected  that  something  was  troubling 
Philip.  Always  tender  and  considerate  when  with 
her,  and  apparently  cheerful,  yet  he  had  grown 
markedly  pale  during  the  last  few  days,  and  there 
were  grim  lines  about  his  mouth  at  times,  when  he 
thought  she  was  not  looking. 

At  once  Joan's  suspicions  were  aroused.  There 
had  been  a  heavy  post  that  morning,  and  among 
other  things  she  had  noticed  a  long  envelope  with  the 
address  of  Langley's  office  printed  on  the  flap. 
Presently  she  stole  into  the  little  room  at  the  back 
where  Philip  did  his  writing.  He  was  sitting  silent 
before  a  table  littered  with  legal  papers,  his  head  on 
his  hand.  Joan,  who  had  entered  very  quietly, 
glanced  at  the  documents  and  changed  colour. 


348    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

"Philip!"  she  said,  "I  have  been  silent  too  long. 
Tell  me,  dear,  what  is  the  matter." 

He  started,  and  slid  a  newspaper,  as  if  casually, 
over  the  documents. 

"It  is  nothing,  Joan,"  he  said.  "Just  a  matter 
of  business.  I  will  not  have  you  worried  with  it." 

"But  I  know!"  she  said,  deeply  aritated.  "I  saw 
those  papers."  She  laid  her  hands  on  his  shoulders. 
"I  have  never  interfered  in  your  affairs,  dear,  but 
this  concerns  me.  It  is  about  my  debts  to  the 
Knayth  estate!" 

"It  is  that,"  he  said  composedly.  "But  I  tell  you 
that  I  can  square  it  all  up  and  put  it  right.  I  ask 
you  just  to  leave  it  to  me." 

"But  I  can't,  Philip!  Please,  there  must  be  no 
secrets  between  us.  You  must  tell  me  about  it. 
They  want  the  money  I  had  to  be  paid  back?" 

There  was  a  long  pause.  He  saw  it  was  useless  to 
fence  with  her. 

"Yes,  if  you  must  know.  Nominally  the  papers 
are  yours,  but  I  am  dealing  with  them,  Joan,  and 
you  are  not  to  let  this  bother  you.  Briefly,  it's  a 
claim  by  Lady  Tallbois'  solicitors — of  course  on  her 
instructions — for  the  repayment  of  money  spent. 
It's  no  surprise;  I  always  expected  it." 

"They  know  I  cannot  pay — I  have  nothing,  now!" 
cried  Joan.  ' '  Surely  they  can't  do  this  ?  It's  cruel — 
wicked!" 

"It  is  the  law,"  said  Philip,  "and  I  cannot  say  it 
is  an  unjust  law.  To  appeal  for  mercy  to  that  little 
tiger-cat  at  Knayth  would  be  utterly  useless — and 
unthinkable." 


THE  SACRIFICE  349 

"How  much  is  it?" 

He  refused  to  answer,  but  she  became  so  agitated 
that  he  judged  it  was  better  to  tell  her  the  whole 
truth. 

"About  thirty-five  thousand  pounds.  And,  once 
for  all,  Joan,  you  can  put  it  out  of  your  mind,  little 
girl.  You  say  I'm  worried,  but  the  whole  thing  isn't 
giving  me  the  hundredth  part  the  concern  it's  giving 
you.  You  didn't  spend  much.  Of  course,  the  thirty 
thousand  was  what  you  paid  to  Vaille  and  Bell.  You 
gave  it  of  your  own  free  will.  At  the  time,  I  know, 
it  seemed  to  you  right  to  do  so." 

"Can  it  not  be  got  back  from  them?"  she  ex- 
claimed. "Even  I  can  see  now  what  folly  mine  was. 
As  things  are,  they've  no  right  to  it." 

He  smiled  grimly. 

"Then  what  is  to  be  done,  Philip?" 

"Must  you  know?  Well,  I  shall  pay  it.  That's 
all." 

' '  You ! ' '  she  cried.  ' '  I  will  not  hear  of  it !  Listen, 
Philip,  I  had  always  an  inkling  this  might  happen — 
ignorant  though  I  am.  I  can  go  bankrupt — I  must, 
for  I  haven't  a  penny.  'Through  the  courts,'  don't 
they  call  it?  And  that  would  clear  me  and  finish 
it  all." 

"Through  the  court — yes,"  said  Philip. 

"So  that  is  what  I  shall  do!    It  is  settled." 

' '  No ! ' '  said  Philip  with  decision.  ' '  I  am  a  member 
of  the  Bar.  I  utterly  refuse  to  consent  to  that.  We 
have  the  money.  It  shall  be  paid." 

"You  are  my  husband.  They  cannot  claim  from 
you." 


350   THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

"No.    But  they  shall  be  paid." 

"Philip!" 

He  rose,  and  took  her  quietly  by  the  arms. 

"My  wife's  honour,"  he  said,  "is  my  honour." 

"I  say  you  shall  not!"  she  gasped.  "It  is  quix- 
otry— madness,  Philip!  Dearest,  it  is  worse  folly 
than  mine  was!" 

"Then,"  he  said  gently,  taking  her  in  his  arms,  "let 
us  be  two  fools  together,  Joan." 

She  was  frightened.  She  tried  desperately  to  shake 
his  decision,  she  argued  and  pleaded.  But  he  was 
adamant.  She  began  to  realize  the  limitations  of 
Philip.  So  far  she  could  command  him,  but  no  far- 
ther. It  seemed  to  her  a  mad  thing  for  him  to  do, 
but  Philip  Mottisfont,  K.C.,  had  said  his  say.  He 
had  some  money,  and  could,  doubtless,  raise  the 
rest.  He  refused  to  keep  it  in  hand  while  his  wife 
became  a  bankrupt.  Financiers  might  do  it — he  was 
not  a  financier. 

"You  can't  pay  it,  Philip!"  she  said  with  return- 
ing hope. 

"But  I  can.  I  had  my  savings,  and  my  uncle — 
who  died  while  I  was  away  from  you,  Joan — left 
me  money.  There's  twelve  thousand  in  all.  And 
my  income  from  the  Bar — for  what  it's  worth.  I 
can  raise  the  rest,  Joan.  I'll  show  you  whether  the 
world  can  beat  me." 

Never  had  Philip  been  more  tender  and  gentle 
with  Joan  than  he  was  during  that  evening.  Next 
morning  he  left  early  for  the  City.  But  strong  and 
confident  as  he  was,  Philip  had  to  learn  that  he  could 
not  defeat  Fate.  He  had  underestimated  his  diffi- 


THE  SACRIFICE  351 

culties.  The  next  three  days  were  very  anxious  ones, 
and  late  one  evening  he  returned  home  with  bitter 
lines  about  his  mouth  and  his  eyes  deep  set.  Joan 
immediately  diagnosed  disaster.  He  attempted  to 
evade  her  questions,  but  Joan  was  too  much  for  him. 

"I  have  failed,"  he  said  dully.  "I  cannot  raise 
the  money.  With  all  there  is,  I  shall  be  eighteen 
thousand  pounds  short.  And  they  will  not  give  me 
time.  It's  sheer  vindictiveness.  But  I  will  not 
endure  the  bankruptcy.  I  have  to  mortgage  my 
income." 

His  face  was  very  white. 

"My  back  is  to  the  wall,"  he  said  under  his  breath, 
"and — things  are  not  going  well  with  me  at  the  Bar. 
This  break  may  mean  disaster — poverty — for  Joan 
and  me." 

Joan  sank  into  a  chair  and  covered  her  face  with 
her  hands. 

"It  is  I  who  have  brought  this  on  you,"  she  said 
trembling. 

"No,  no!"  said  Philip  quickly.  "Dear  heart,  the 
fault  was  not  yours.  Yet  there  is  one  thing  I  cannot 
help  but  say,"  he  added  with  sudden  bitterness.  "It 
is  ill  bearing  a  grudge  against  the  dead,  but  I  wonder 
such  a  man  as  William  Tallbois  was  ever  allowed 
to  walk  the  earth !  All  this  wretchedness  you  have 
endured,  my  dear  one — you  and  who  knows  how 
many  others — was  caused  by  his  sin.  And  still  the 
tragedy  goes  on;  there  seems  no  end  to  it.  I  never 
thought  I  was  vindictive.  But  no  punishment  de- 
vised by  God  or  man  could  be  too  deep  for  such  as 
he  was!" 


352    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

Joan  uncovered  her  face  and  stared  before  her. 

"No,"  she  said,  "I  cannot  say  that." 

He  looked  at  her  quickly. 

"Have  I  said  what  I  ought  not?  Forgive  me.  I 
was  not  myself.  But  surely,  Joan,  even  you,  in  your 
heart,  cannot  feel  forgiveness  for  him.  There  are 
things  past  pardon." 

Joan  was  silent. 

"For  a  while,"  she  said  at  last,  "I  felt  as  you  do. 
Not  for  any  loss  of  what  might  have  been  mine, 
Heaven  forbid.  But  for  the  way  he  treated  my 
mother.  The  mother  that  bore  me.  And  yet " 

She  rose  to  her  feet  unsteadily. 

"Even  now,  I  cannot  condemn.  For  I  feel  that 
I  do  not  know  the  truth,  Philip !  Who  am  I  that  I 
should  judge?  Let  those  without  sin  cast  the  first 
stone." 

Philip  winced. 

"Amen  to  that,"  he  said. 

There  was  a  ring  at  the  front  door  bell.  Neither 
of  them  noticed  it. 

"The  truth — the  facts!"  said  Joan  in  a  breaking 
voice.  "I  feel  that  these  are  still  hidden  from  me!" 

"Well,"  he  said  quietly,  "we  have  to  face  facts 
now."  A  rap  sounded  on  the  door.  "Yes — come 
in!" 

The  maid  entered  with  a  package  on  a  tray. 

"A  gentleman  left  this,  sir,"  she  said.  "It  was  to 
be  given  to  you  immediately.  He  left  no  name,  and 
did  not  wait." 

"No  name?"  said  Philip  in  surprise.  The  parcel 
was  addressed  to  him.  "What  was  he  like?" 


THE  SACRIFICE  353 

"It  was  too  dark  to  see,  sir.  A  very  tall  gentle- 
man." 

The  maid  went  out.  Philip  cut  open  the  parcel, 
which  was  done  up  securely  in  wrapper  after  wrapper. 
He  gave  a  cry  of  blank  astonishment.  A  thick  roll 
of  bank-notes  fell  upon  the  table.  They  were  for 
five  hundred  pounds  each.  He  counted  them. 

"There  are  twenty  thousand  pounds  here!"  he 
said  dazedly. 

Joan,  wondering  if  she  were  dreaming,  came  to  his 
side  and  picked  up  one  of  the  notes.  She  stared  at 
it  with  wide  eyes. 

"Philip!"  she  gasped,  "these  are  the  notes  I  paid 
to  Vaile!     I  took  the   numbers   as  a  safeguard- 
I  remember  them  even  now !    Philip,  this  is  wonder- 
ful!   What  does  it  mean?" 

Philip  was  too  dumbfounded  to  answer.  He 
searched  eagerly  through  the  wrappers,  seeking  some 
clue  to  the  mystery.  A  sense  of  joy  and  relief  dawned 
in  him,  too  deep  for  words.  There  was  nothing  else 
in  the  package,  save  one  half  sheet  of  note-paper  with 
seven  words  pen-printed  on  it  in  large  black  capitals : 

TO  THAT  RARA  AVIS,  AN  HONEST  MAN. 
33 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

THE  HALLS  OF  HER  ANCESTORS 

LADY  TALLBOIS  gazed  at  the  wide  south  front  of 
Knayth  Abbey  with  mingled  admiration  and  dis- 
paragement. 

"It's  great!"  she  said.  "Harold,  this  is  some 
house.  Mine — an'  I'll  never  lose  it.  The  home  of 
the  Talbois !  When  I 'm  here,  I 'm  It !  But  gee !  It's 
old  and  mouldy.  I  guess  I'll  brush  some  of  the  mould 
off  before  I've  done!" 

"I  should  say  you  will,"  agreed  Drummond  a 
trifle  gloomily,  "if  you  go  on  as  you've  begun." 

It  was  Agnes's  debut  at  Knayth.  The  staff  was 
still  more  or  less  intact,  though,  as  Drummond  had 
carefully  ascertained,  the  footman,  John  Good- 
enough,  was  no  longer  a  member  of  it;  he  had  dis- 
appeared on  the  day  Joan  left.  And  Mr.  Deane  was 
no  longer  in  charge.  He  had  sent  in  his  resignation. 

"The  place  would  give  me  the  fan-tods  if  I  were 
here  alone,"  pursued  Agnes.  "Even  with  you, 
Harold,  it's  ghostly.  But  we'll  liven  it  up,"  she 
added,  as  a  motor  turned  in  through  the  distant 
park  gates.  "Here's  the  first  guest,  an'  that'll  be 
Mrs.  Blessington's  automobile.  There'll  be  plenty 
of  tone  now,  I  guess." 

Drummond  smiled  uneasily.    He  had  been  ordered 

354 


THE  HALLS  OF  HER  ANCESTORS     355 

to  collect  a  house-party  of  representative  people  for 
Agnes's  celebration  at  Knayth.  There  was,  however, 
a  difficulty.  Whatever  the  verdict  on  the  dethroned 
Joan,  Society  had  distinctly  shied  at  her  successor. 
It  was  too  early  for  such  a  volte-face,  and  Agnes's 
vindictiveness  at  the  trial  of  the  Tallbois  case,  com- 
bined with  one  or  two  startling  escapades  in  London, 
had  put  anything  of  that  sort  out  of  the  question. 

Drummond  had  only  been  able  to  get  together 
such  dubious  people  as  every  man-about-town  knows ; 
they  passed  very  well  with  Agnes,  who,  quite  un- 
trained in  such  matters,  took  them  for  what  they 
appeared  to  be. 

The  first  to  arrive  was  Mrs.  Blessington,  a  strik- 
ingly handsome  and  ultra-smart  dame,  who  had  a 
year  before  been  the  heroine  in  a  cause  ceiebre  that 
filled  the  Sunday  newspapers.  She  brought  two 
companions  with  her,  and  greeted  Agnes  effusively. 

Lord  Castleshannon,  a  penniless  Irish  peer  who 
lived  by  his  wits,  came  shortly  afterwards.  Then 
appeared  Mr.  Montague  Flack,  large,  heavy,  ex- 
pensively dressed.  Mr.  Montague  Flack  was  a 
bookmaker,  who  also  owned  a  small  stable  of  selling- 
platers,  which  other  people  financed.  After  him 
came  Vyner  Datchett,  the  famous  pigeon-shot,  noted 
also  for  his  perfect  clothes;  he  brought  three  large 
suit-cases  and  one  small  valet.  By  the  time  the 
entire  house-party  had  arrived  there  were  eight  men 
and  five  women,  all  outwardly  presentable  at  first 
glance.  In  actual  fact,  a  more  representative  col- 
lection of  social  outcasts,  blackballed  to  perpetuity, 
could  not  have  been  raked  out  of  London. 


356    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

It  is  not  necessary  to  linger  over  the  events  of  the 
afternoon.  Castleshannon  raided  the  stables,  and 
some  scratch  races  were  organized  in  the  park.  Ag- 
nes, whose  eyes  were  shining  with  excitement,  was 
made  much  of  to  her  face,  and  laughed  at  very 
thoroughly  behind  her  back.  Several  of  the  guests 
attempted  to  get  her  to  themselves  for  various  reasons 
of  their  own,  but  they  were  detached  by  the  watchful 
Drummond,  who  was  more  than  a  match  for  any  of 
them. 

Agnes's  mother  had  accompanied  her  to  Knayth, 
but  that  retiring  lady  kept  humbly  out  of  the  way, 
and  even  dined  in  her  own  room. 

Throughout  the  day,  in  fact,  Drummond  steered 
her  tactfully  through  all  the  difficulties;  she  recog- 
nized his  aid,  and  was  more  than  grateful.  There 
were  many  quaint  incidents,  but  nothing  startling 
happened  until  dinner,  when  Lady  Tallbois  appeared 
in  an  evening  gown  of  pale  pink  silk,  a  diamond  star 
over  her  forehead,  and  took  her  place  at  the  head  of 
the  table. 

The  Veuve  Clicquot  of  the  Knayth  cellars  flowed 
like  water,  and  the  meal  was  somewhat  riotous.  Mr. 
Pond,  the  butler,  though  preserving  an  outward 
calm,  almost  wept  to  see  the  sort  of  company  that 
was  consuming  his  choicest  vintages.  Pond  had  a 
fine  sense  of  social  values,  and  had  quickly  sized  up 
the  guests  upon  whom  he  was  waiting. 

Towards  the  end  of  dinner  Lord  Castleshannon 
rose  to  his  feet,  his  eyes  nearly  as  pink  as  Lady  Tall- 
bois' gown,  and  turned  towards  her  with  a  brimming 
glass  in  his  hand. 


THE  HALLS  OF  HER  ANCESTORS     357 

"I  call  upon  you  all,"  he  said,  "to  wish  long  life 
and  happiness  to  our  charming  hostess." 

"Hear!  hear!"  said  Mr.  Montague  Flack  with  a 
vinous  leer  at  Agnes. 

"Who,"  continued  Castleshannon  ardently,  "en- 
joys her  own  at  last,  in  spite  of  those  who  sought  to 
keep  her  out  of  it,  and  after  a  career  sparkling  with 
romance!  She  is  the  last  and  most  exquisite  flower 
of  the  princely  race  of  Tallbois." 

He  delivered  a  flowery  speech  which,  extravagant 
though  it  was,  made  Agnes  flush  and  laugh  with 
pleasure.  For  some  time  past  she  had  been  strangely 
silent  and  ill  at  ease.  The  toast  was  received  with 
acclamation,  all  standing  up. 

"It  brings  tears  to  my  eyes,"  concluded  the  pro- 
poser, "to  see  her  in  the  halls  of  her  ancestors,  sur- 
rounded by  all  the  splendour  that  could  only  have 
been  matched  in  its  day  by  that  of  Castleshannon, 
County  Limerick." 

"There  is  one  thing,  Michael,  that  you  could  never 
have  matched  there,"  said  Drummond  smiling. 

"  What's  that  ?  "  said  his  lordship,  refilling  his  glass. 

" The  Knayth  Goblet." 

"Why!"  cried  Mrs.  Blessington,  "that's  the  fa- 
mous chalice  Benvenuto  designed,  isn't  it?  The  one 
that  only  the  Tallbois  can  drink  from?" 

"May  we  see  it,  Lady  Tallbois?"  clamoured  the 
guests. 

' ' The  Knayth  Goblet ! ' '  ejaculated  Agnes.  ' 'Ain't 
that  it  yonder  in  the  wall?  They  sent  me  the  keys. 
Have  it  down  here,  Harold." 

She  gave  Drummond  the  key,  and  he  brought  the 


358    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

Goblet  from  its  niche  and  set  it  beside  her  on  the 
table,  its  clear  crystal  sparkling  above  the  superb 
jewels  studding  its  stem.  It  had  not  been  taken 
down  since  it  signalized  Joan's  entry  into  her  brief, 
ill-fated  reign  at  Knayth. 

' '  Gee ! "  said  Agnes,  "ain't  it  a  beaut ! "  She  lifted 
and  admired  the  wonderful  toy.  "Fill  it  up,  you!" 
she  said  to  Mr.  Pond.  "I'll  return  the  toast  with  it. 
Red  wine — not  the  fizzy  stuff!" 

The  butler  filled  the  crystal  cup  with  claret.  Si- 
lence fell  as  Agnes  stood  up  and  deftly  curved  her 
slim  fingers  with  the  opal-tinted  nails  about  the 
pierced  jewels  of  the  stem. 

For  a  moment  she  stood  hesitating,  as  though  men- 
tally seeking  some  impressive  words  with  which  to 
answer  Castleshannon's  toast.  The  words  refused 
to  come. 

"Here's  luck!"  she  said  suddenly,  "to  the  true 
and  only  Lady  Tallbois!" 

She  lifted  the  Goblet,  but  the  wine  never  reached 
her  lips.  As  she  tilted  it,  the  fluid  streamed  and 
spurted  over  her  hands,  reddening  the  bosom  of  her 
dress  as  if  with  blood. 

Agnes  stood  as  if  stupefied.  Her  face  darkened. 
With  a  sharp  cry  of  rage  she  flung  the  Goblet  to  the 
floor,  where  it  dashed  into  a  hundred  glittering 
fragments. 


The  long  dining-hall  was  empty.  The  fragments 
of  the  Goblet  had  been  swept  away,  the  scattered 
jewels  gathered.  The  lights  were  turned  low. 


THE  HALLS  OF  HER  ANCESTORS     359 

Agnes  came  into  the  room  very  quietly,  as  though 
seeking  a  refuge  where  she  could  be  alone.  From  the 
distant  billiard-room  came  the  murmur  of  voices 
and  laughter.  Lady  Tallbois'  guests  had  been  partly 
amazed  and  partly  appalled,  but  wholly  amused,  by 
Agnes's  outbreak  and  her  exploit  with  the  Goblet. 
They  were  not  the  people  to  let  it  trouble  them,  how- 
ever, and  finally  had  passed  out  and  settled  down  to 
amuse  themselves,  indifferent  whether  their  hostess 
joined  them. 

Lady  Tallbois  was  as  pale  as  her  dark  complexion 
would  ever  allow  her  to  be,  and  wore  a  strangely 
forlorn  look.  After  staring  dumbly  round  the  room 
she  dropped  into  an  arm-chair. 

"I  don't  know,"  she  muttered,  "that  I'm  getting 
anything  out  of  it,  after  all." 

She  drew  a  deep  breath. 

' '  I  don't  seem  to  have  any  luck, ' '  murmured  Agnes. 

Suddenly  she  covered  her  face  with  her  hands  and 
began  to  sob  brokenly. 

Presently  the  door  opened  gently,  and  Drummond 
looked  in  with  an  anxious  face.  He  saw  the  mournful 
figure  in  the  chair,  and  came  quickly  across. 

"Agnes,"  he  said  softly,  "what's  the  matter?" 

"Everything,"  said  Agnes  in  stifled  tones.  "Is  it 
you,  Harold?" 

She  brought  her  hands  down  and  gave  a  little 
shiver. 

"I — I  thought  you  might  come.  I'm  just  miser- 
able. 

"I've  been  thinking,"  she  muttered,  "that,  maybe, 
I  was  a  bit  rougher  on  Joan  Tallbois  than — I  need 


36o    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

have  been.  I'm  beginning  to  see  what  she  had  to 
stand  in  this  place — an'  with  that  crew  of  crooks 
twisting  the  screw  on  her.  Same  as  I've  been  getting 
it  now,  this  past  week.  And  I  don't  see  the  mob  we've 
got  in  the  house  is  much  better.  Harold!"  she  said, 
grasping  his  arm  convulsively,  "it's  breaking  me! 
It's  more  than  I  can  stand  for!  Everybody's  against 
me!" 

Drummond  dropped  to  his  knees  beside  her,  and 
suddenly  caught  her  hands. 

"Here  is  one  who  is  not,  Agnes,"  he  said. 

"Yes,"  she  whispered.  "You!  You've  always 
treated  me  white,  Harold.  You're  different." 

Their  eyes  met.  Drummond  felt  his  heart  beating 
strongly. 

"I  will  stand  between  you  and  them  all.  Only 
give  me  the  right,"  he  said  passionately.  "I  love 
you,  Agnes." 

"You — love  me?"  she  said  slowly. 

"I  love  you.  You  know  what  I  am,"  he  said  a 
little  hoarsely.  "Will  you  marry  me,  Agnes?" 

"Yes,"  she  said,  and  the  next  moment  she  was  in 
his  arms. 

"It  was  always  you,  Harold,"  she  whispered, 
"first  and  now  and  always.  From  the  day  I  saw 
you." 

There  was  a  long  silence  as  he  held  her  supple  form 
to  him  and  kissed  her  lips.  Presently  Agnes  freed 
herself  and  stood  back.  She  looked  at  him  through 
half -closed  eyes. 

"Is  this  by  Callaghan's  orders?"  she  said. 

There  was  a  rasping  sound  in  Drummond's  throat. 


THE  HALLS  OF  HER  ANCESTORS     361 

His  face  flamed  crimson,  and  faded  to  a  dull  white. 

"Yes!"  he  said  thickly. 

Agnes  gave  a  quiet  nod. 

"I'm  not  a  fool,  Harold.  I  was  wise  to  it  all  from 
the  word  '  go. '  Tell  me,  for  I'm  going  to  have  it  from 
your  own  lips.  Didn't  Callaghan  set  you  on  to  get 
round  me  an'  marry  me  so  you  could  rob  me  for  the 
good  of  him  and  his  crew.  Out  with  it." 

"I've  done  with  lies,"  said  Drummond,  though 
the  words  choked  him.  "He  did.  That  is  what  I 
was  to  do." 

"And  though  I  made  it  easy,  you  thought  it  a 
heavy  job,  and  reckoned  to  hate  the  sight  of  me." 

He  made  no  answer. 

"And  then,"  continued  Lady  Tallbois,  "you  begun 
to  find  that  it  weren't  so  bad,  after  all?" 

"I  began  to  find,  and  very  quickly,"  said  Drum- 
mond beneath  his  breath,  "that  in  all  the  world  you 
were  the  only  woman  that  mattered  to  me.  That  I 
loved  you,  Agnes,  cruel  and  passionate  though  you 
seemed,  and  every  day  you  got  those  little  hands  of 
yours  more  tightly  round  my  heart.  And — well  I 
love  you,  Agnes,  and  there  it  is." 

"I  know  it,"  she  said  nodding.  "You're  speaking 
the  truth  now,  Harold;  you've  near  forgotten  how 
to  speak  it  this  long  while  past.  And  I  love  you,  too, 
an'  I  need  you  a  heap  worse  than  you  need  me.  I 
loved  you  from  the  first.  And  then ?" 

"Then  I  became  bitter  and  kicked  hard,"  muttered 
Drummond,  "against  Callaghan  and  his  crowd.  I 
refused  the  last  time  I  saw  him,  and  he  put  the  screw 
on  me,  and  life  became  more  than  I  could  stand." 


362    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

Drummond  had  been  staring  before  him  stonily  as 
he  spoke.  Suddenly  he  buried  his  face  in  his  arm, 
and  a  gasping  sob  broke  from  him. 

"I'm  sick  of  it  all!"  he  said  hoarsely,  writhing  in 
his  seat.  "  I'm  sick  of  the  life  I've  led  with  that  beast 
Callaghan.  Damn  the  day  I  ever  met  him !  If  you 
knew  the  things  he's  made  me  do — the  things  he's 
made  me  do!  He  got  a  grip  of  me  once,  and  he's 
never  let  it  go.  I've  done  with  him,  whether  he  wins 
or  loses — whatever  the  price  is  to  me."  He  trembled 
violently.  "And  I'm  afraid,  Agnes — I'm  afraid! 
Lord  help  me!" 

Agnes  threw  herself  down  beside  him,  and  laid  a 
hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"You're  just  a  kid,  Harold,"  she  said  gently,  "an' 
none  such  a  bad  kid.  I  guess  there's  a  white  streak 
in  you.  And  black  or  white,  I  love  you.  You  ain't 
the  crook  those  other  three  are.  You  would  have 
been,  in  time.  You'd  be  what  they  are  today.  But 
that's  cut  out.  Don't  take  on  so,  kid.  The  worst's 
over." 

She  put  her  arms  about  him  and  laid  his  head  on 
her  breast  as  if  he  were  a  child. 

"Feeling  better,  Harold?"  She  sat  up  and  took 
his  wrists  in  her  slim  fingers;  her  wonderful  eyes 
searched  his  face.  "One  last  question?  Suppose  I 
wasn't  Lady  Tallbois  of  Knayth,  but  just  a  poor 
little  cheap  skate  of  a  half-caste.  Would  you  want 
me  for  your  wife,  then?  Just  get  a  cinch  on  that." 

He  glanced  at  her,  faintly  startled. 

"What  a  question,  Agnes !    Do  you  doubt  me? " 

She  gave  a  metallic  laugh. 


THE  HALLS  OF  HER  ANCESTORS     363 

''Never  mind,  I've  got  the  goods  such  as  they  are. 
Kiss  me,  Harold." 

At  that  moment  the  door  opened  and  the  Senora 
De  Castra  Tallbois,  who  had  completely  effaced  her- 
self during  the  festivities,  waddled  into  the  room, 
clad  in  a  pink  dressing-gown.  She  halted  and  stared 
at  the  unexpected  tableau  before  her.  Drummond 
looked  confused. 

"Come  right  in,  Mommer,"  said  Agnes  command- 
ingly,  "and  be  civil  to  your  son-in-law.  Harold  and 
I  are  going  to  get  married." 

The  Senora  caught  her  breath,  and  changed  colour. 
She  came  slowly  up  to  Drummond. 

"You!"  she  said,  scanning  his  face.  "You?  A 
colleague  of  Callaghan — you,  of  all  men?" 

"I  have  done  with  that,  Senora,"  muttered 
Drummond. 

"He  has  done  with  that,"  echoed  Agnes  defiantly, 
"and  I  love  him!" 

"You  love  him.  I  know  that  well."  The  Senora 
drew  a  long  breath.  "Well,  be  it  so."  She  eyed 
Drummond  intently.  "Agnes  loves  you.  I  think 
perhaps  there  may  be  a  little  good  in  you  yet.  And 
who  are  we,"  she  added  bitterly,  "to  judge  you — my 
daughter  and  I?" 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

THE  GENTLEMAN  FROM  SALINAS 

"AND  you've  sent  it  to  the  papers,  Harold?"  said 
Agnes,  increasing  a  little  pressure  of  her  arm  about 
Mr.  Drummond's  neck. 

"It  will  appear,"  replied  Drummond,  "in  the 
fashionable  intelligence.  'A  Marriage  has  been  ar- 
ranged between  Mr.  Harold  Wemyss  Drummond  and 
Viscountess  Tallbois  of  Knayth  .  .  .  '  with  the 
usual  apposite  and  inaccurate  comments.  But  the 
most  florid  of  Pressmen,  Agnes,  could  not  describe 
our  happiness." 

"When  we're  married — "  said  Agnes,  and  then 
to  Drummond's  amazement,  she  sprang  up  and  with 
a  swift  movement  flung  open  the  French  windows 
and  stared  out. 

"What's  the  matter?"  exclaimed  Drummond, 
joining  her. 

"I  heard  a  noise  there,"  she  said  with  extraor- 
dinary viciousness.  "I  believe  there  was  somebody 
at  that  window!" 

Drummond  stepped  on  to  the  terrace  and  peered 
into  the  darkness.  He  could  see  nothing. 

"For  a  while  past,"  said  Agnes,  who  looked  curi- 
ously strung  up  and  overwrought,  "I've  felt  as  if 

364 


THE  GENTLEMAN  FROM  SALINAS    365 

there's  somebody  spyin'  on  me  here — watchin' — 
watchin' — listenin' ! " 

"You  fancied  it,"  said  Drummond,  closing  the 
windows. 

"Maybe,"  muttered  Agnes,  "I'm  full  of  fancies 
these  days,  Harold.  I've  a  feelin'  there's  a  curse  on 
this  place.  It's  hoodooed.  I  guess  I  won't  want  to 
live  here  after  we're  married." 

Drummond  had  learned  to  know  Agnes's  moods 
and  the  volcanic  outbursts  of  temper  of  which  she 
was  capable.  He  soothed  her  tactfully  and  soon 
the  incident  was  forgotten.  They  sat  together  on  the 
lounge  by  the  fire,  talking  in  low  tones  when  the 
door  opened  abruptly,  and  Agnes's  mother  entered. 
Drummond  showed  some  annoyance  at  the  interrup- 
tion. But  as  they  looked  up,  both  of  them  were 
startled  at  the  usually  placid  woman's  appearance. 
Agnes  rose  to  her  feet  with  an  exclamation. 

The  Sefiora  De  Castra  Tallbois  was  at  no  time  a 
very  attractive  sight;  at  that  moment  she  was  less 
so  than  ever.  She  had  just  come  in  from  the  park 
wearing  a  silver-fox  mantle  flapping  open  loosely; 
her  bonnet  was  askew  and  in  her  eyes  a  look  of 
dreadful  terror.  She  was  trembling  violently  and 
her  treble  chin  wabbled  upon  the  collar  of  silver  fox. 

"Madre  de  Dios!"  she  said  piteously,  "have  mercy 
on  me." 

' '  What's  wrong  ? ' '  said  Agnes  impatiently.  ' '  Have 
you  seen  a  ghost?" 

"I  wish,"  gasped  the  Sefiora,  "that  that  were  all!" 

She  sank  into  a  chair  and  placed  a  shaking  hand 
over  her  heart. 


366    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

"Agnes,"  she  muttered,  "I  have  always  feared  a 
day  of  reckoning,  and  it  is  here.  I  wish  to  speak  to 
you  alone." 

Agnes  stared  at  her  with  a  sense  of  impending 
disaster. 

"If  there's  trouble  come  to  me,"  she  said,  "let 
Harold  hear  it,  right  here  beside  me.  I  intend  he 
shall  stay." 

The  Senora  looked  at  her  piteously  and  shivered. 

"It  is  hard,"  she  said  under  her  breath,  and  still 
speaking  in  Spanish,  "to  say  what  I  have  to  say — 
even  to  you.  But  to  the  Senor  Drummond " 

"Let  me  go,"  said  Drummond  uneasily.  He  was 
wholly  at  a  loss.  "I  will  go.  You  can  tell  me, 
Agnes " 

"Stay!"  said  Agnes,  and  her  hand  closed  on  his 
wrist.  "You  got  to  stay.  You  hear  me?" 

"Very  well,  then,"  said  the  Senora  dully.  She 
glanced  at  Drummond  with  a  gleam  of  hope.  "It 
may  be  the  Senor  can  help.  But  what  use?  It  is 
all  finished.  You  understand  my  tongue,  sir?  I 
cannot  speak  now  in  yours." 

"Yes,"  said  Drummond. 

Suddenly  the  Senora's  fat  yellow  fingers  clutched 
the  coverlet  of  the  chair,  and  the  words  came  from 
her  with  a  rush. 

"Agnes!  I  am  neither  wife  nor  widow  of  William 
Tallbois.  You  have  no  right  to  this  great  English 
fortune,  nor  to  the  title  you  are  known  by.  And  the 
time  comes  when  they  will  take  it  from  you." 

There  was  a  black  silence.  The  woman  shrank 
from  her  daughter's  eyes.  Then  Agnes  moved 


THE  GENTLEMAN  FROM  SALINAS    367 

away  from  Drummond's  side  and  spoke  quite 
quietly. 

"I  believe,"  she  said  slowly,  "that  you  have  told 
me  the  truth.  It  is  the  truth  I  am  hearing  at  last. 
Go  on.  Let  us  have  it  all." 

"Mi  caritd,"  moaned  the  woman,  "it  is  hard.  You 
can  never  forgive  me.  You  can  never " 

"Leave  all  that  out,"  said  Agnes  wearily.  "I  tell 
you  that  I  am  past  caring  much  for  anything.  Never 
mind  forgiveness.  Explain  what  you  mean.  And 
make  it  short." 

Drummond's  face  looked  as  if  it  had  suddenly 
been  frozen.  He  glanced  towards  the  door  again, 
but  seemed  unable  to  move.  Sefiora  De  Castra 
turned  her  head  away  and  looked  at  neither  of  them. 
There  was  a  brief  silence,  and  she  spoke  again  in  a 
low,  even  voice. 

"You  know,  Agnes,  that  when  I  was  a  girl  at 
Santa  Inez,  twenty-three  years  ago,  I  became  the 
wife  of  Pedro  De  Castra,  the  ranchero." 

"I  never  heard,"  sneered  Agnes  bitterly,  "that 
he  had  a  profession." 

"I,"  said  the  Senora  dully,  "was  his  profession. 
I  kept  the  little  store,  and  he  took  what  money  I 
could  make,  and  he  gambled  and  drank  and  fought. 
He  lived  on  me  and  beat  me;  he  was  cruel  as  the 
black  blood  in  his  veins  could  make  him.  For  more 
than  a  year  I  lived  with  him — a  hopeless  year." 

"And  then  he  had  the  consideration  to  die,"  said 
Agnes.  "And  left  you  his  widow.  Go  on." 

"Yes.  He  was  killed  in  a  brawl  at  the  Pulqueria — 
the  little  inn  down  by  the  river.  And  they  buried 


368    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

him.  I  could  not  pretend  sorrow.  I  began  to  live 
again.  To  stay  in  the  place  was  impossible.  I  went 
to  Salinas  and  I  started  a  store  there. 

"And  then,"  said  the  Sefiora  slowly,  "less  than 
three  weeks  after  Pedro,  as  I  thought,  was  dead,  and 
forgotten,  came  the  young  Englishman,  who  called 
himself  Le  Mesurier.  And  in  ten  days  more — I  had 
consented  to  be  his  wife." 

"Ah,"  said  Agnes  quietly,  "you  loved  him?" 

"I  do  not  know.  I  think  the  power  of  love  had 
been  killed  in  me;  I  became  hard.  I  knew  all  there 
was  to  be  known  about  men,  and  I  determined  that 
this  young  Englishman  should  be  my  husband.  He 
was  wholly  different  from  Pedro.  It  was  very  easy. 
He  was  hardly  more  than  a  boy.  I  think  I  was  the 
first  woman  he  had  much  to  do  with.  Men  do  not 
look  at  me  now,  but  I  was  a  very  beautiful  woman  in 
those  days — do  not  laugh  at  me,  Agnes,  for  it  is  true. 

"He  was  a  boy,  but  a  very  wonderful  boy,  this 
young  Ingles.  I  liked  him.  He  came  from — no  one 
knew  where.  He  had  some  money;  where  he  got  it 
I  did  not  know — nor  care.  He  had  nearly  seven 
hundred  dollars. 

"In  ten  days  I,  widow  of  Pedro  De  Castra,  was 
the  betrothed  of  this  young  Englishman,  and  I  held 
him  by  the  strings  of  my  girdle.  Florida  was  a  para- 
dise ;  we  were  to  be  idyllicly  happy,  living  in  a  bower 
by  the  sea  and  growing  oranges.  Yes,  he  was  a 
romantic  boy  in  those  days,  my  young  Englishman. 
It  was  very  soon  after  Pedro's  death,  but  I  did  not 
care — neither  of  us  cared.  I  wanted  to  forget  Pedro. 

"And  then,  three  days  before  we  were  married,  a 


THE  GENTLEMAN  FROM  SALINAS    369 

strange  and  terrible  thing  happened.  A  man  broke 
into  the  little  house  where  I  lived  in  Salinas,  by  night, 
and  robbed  me  of  a  little  money  I  had,  and  went 
away  .  .  .  ' 

The  Senora's  voice  became  hoarse  and  her  fingers 
opened  and  shut. 

"It  was  Pedro!"  she  said  thickly.  "I  knew  that 
it  was  he.  Pedro — my  husband — risen  from  the 
dead.  He,  and  no  other!" 

Agnes  started  to  her  feet. 

' '  What  ? "  she  muttered.    ' '  How  ? " 

"Listen!"  said  the  Sefiora  quickly.  "When  the 
fight  happened  at  Santa  Inez,  Pedro  knifed  a  man, 
and  was  himself  wounded.  There  were  many  there, 
all  mad  with  drink;  the  fight  became  general;  the 
saloon  was  burned  down,  and  four  men  lost  their 
lives  in  the  flames.  There  were  four  bodies" — she 
passed  a  hand  over  her  eyes — "very  much  burned. 
I  identified  one  of  them  as  Pedro.  So  did  others. 
We  were  all  sure  that  it  was  he.  And  then — the 
inquest,  the  burial,  and,  as  I  believed,  my  freedom. 

"Who  it  is  that  lies  in  the  grave  that  bears  Pedro's 
name  I  have  never  known.  Many  strangers  and 
wastrels  used  the  inn  by  the  river;  men  that  would 
never  be  missed. 

"Pedro  got  away.  He  went  into  hiding — perhaps 
because  of  the  thing  he  had  done — and  never  showed 
himself  openly,  not  even  to  me,  when  he  came  back 
in  the  night  to  rob  me.  But  I  knew  it  was  he.  He  left 
a  proof  behind  him.  I  knew  that  Pedro  was  alive ! " 

"Go  on,"  said  Agnes,  drawing  a  deep  breath. 
"What  did  you  do?" 

»4 


370    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

It  was  some  moments  before  the  Senora  answered. 

' '  I  did — nothing ! ' '  she  said  in  a  whisper.  ' '  I  tried 
to  tell  myself  I  was  mistaken — though  that  was  folly. 
I  hoped  that  Pedro  had  gone  for  good.  I  hoped — a 
hundred  things!  I  could  not  give  up  my  young 
Englishman,  and  the  life  and  the  happiness  promised 
me.  I  clung  to  it  as  the  drowning  cling  to  straws. 
Oh,  I  was  mad,  and  wicked,  and  a  fool.  Some  women 
can  only  be  fools,  at  such  times  as  that.  I  kept  the 
secret.  I  said  nothing  to  Le  Mesurier.  And  in  three 
days  I  entered  the  chapel  with  him,  and  left  it  as — 
his  wife." 

The  Senora's  voice  faded  till  it  was  almost  inaud- 
ible. 

1 '  For  a  month — six  weeks — we  lived  at  the  grove — 
and  I  was — almost  happy.  He  was  good  to  me,  this 
English  boy — this  wastrel  of  the  Tallbois  family,  for 
such  he  was.  In  later  years  I've  heard  he  became  a 
human  devil,  and  men  say  terrible  things  of  him. 
But  in  those  few  weeks  I  saw  nothing  of  it.  Walter 
was  kind  to  me.  And  always,  even  when  angry,  a 
hidalgo — a  gentleman — to  me.  All  this  was  before  he 
lost  his  trust  in  women.  He  believed  in  me,  you  see. ' ' 

' '  Go  on, "  said  Agnes ; '  'much  of  this  I  know.  What 
next?" 

"The  thing  that  any  one  but  a  foolish,  half -crazed 
woman  might  have  known  was  certain.  Pedro  came 
again.  Not  to  claim  his  wife — no!  But  secretly, 
like  a  cur  and  thief,  to  gain  profit  by  it  all!"  She 
shivered.  ' '  That  is  the  man  my — husband — was. ' ' 

"Go  on,"  said  Agnes.  "Your — Walter  Le  Mesu- 
rier— discovered  it  ? " 


THE  GENTLEMAN  FROM  SALINAS    371 

"Very  quickly.  When  his  suspicions  were  aroused 
he  tore  the  truth  from  me — he  discovered  all.  And 
more — he  learned  that  I  had  known  it  from  the  first — 
that  I  had  known  it  before  I  married  him.  Oh,  that 
awful  time!" 

She  buried  her  face  in  her  hands  and  sobbed, 
rocking  to  and  fro. 

"It  was  soon  over.  I  think  it  turned  the  very 
heart  of  him  to  gall.  From  that  hour  I  ceased  to 
exist  for  him.  He  became  like  a  man  of  ice.  He 
said  only  one  thing  to  me.  'Mercedes,  go  to  your 
husband!'  That  was  his  word.  He  left  me  in  the 
night,  he  passed  out  of  my  life,  and  from  then  to  the 
day  of  his  death  I  never  saw  him." 

"I  understand  him  very  well,"  said  Agnes  softly, 
"and  I  understand  you,  too.  Well — and  what  of 
De  Castra?  Your  husband?  The  secret  seems  to 
have  been  well  kept  since." 

"I  escaped  from  Pedro,  my  one  piece  of  good  for- 
tune. He  paid  me  one  more  visit!"  she  shivered. 
"A  dreadful  visit  that  came  near  to  kill  me.  When 
he  had  gone,  I  sold  the  grove  immediately  and 
gathered  together  what  money  I  could — Walter  had 
left  all  that  he  had  with  me  when  he  went;  he  took 
nothing  away  with  him — and  I  fled  right  away  North 
across  the  States  to  Seattle.  And  you  were  born; 
and  I  lived  in  the  North  eighteen  years.  I  was  a  fool 
not  to  go  before. 

"Pedro  never  found  me.  And  after  all  these  years 
I  persuaded  myself  that  he  was  dead.  Nothing  was 
ever  heard  of  him,  and  a  man  of  his  habits  was  not 
likely  to  live  long.  And  I  hungered  every  year  for 


372    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

the  South,  and  in  the  eighteenth  year  I  went  back 
to  Florida — when  you,  much  against  my  wishes, 
had  gone  on  the  stage,  up  there  in  the  North. 

' '  So  sure  was  I  that  the  past  was  dead  that  I  used 
again  the  name  of  De  Castra.  Hateful  though  the 
name  was  it  was  the  only  name  I  had  a  right  to.  I 
could  not  endure  to  use  Walter's  name;  I  dared  not 
do  that.  I  let  the  people  of  Salinas  think  what  they 
liked,  and  doubtless  they  wondered.  But  they  did 
not  know  of  Pedro's  return. 

"And  then,"  said  the  Senora  bitterly,  "there  came, 
at  the  last,  that  prince  of  rogues,  Callaghan.  Cal- 
laghan  was  a  man  who  knew  Walter  Le  Mesurier 
intimately;  knew  all  about  him,  and  that  Le  Mesu- 
rier and  William  Tallbois  were  one  and  the  same. 
Callaghan  traced  the  marriage  of  that  young  English- 
man to  me;  the  secret  was  in  his  hands,  and  he  saw 
a  way  to  enrich  himself.  He  had  collected  all  the 
proofs.  He  summoned  me  to  England;  I  was  to 
bring  you  with  me,  and  establish  the  claim  by  his 
aid.  I  dared  not  refuse." 

"Did  Callaghan  know  about  Pedro?"  asked  Agnes 
quickly. 

"How  can  I  tell,"  said  her  mother  dully,  "what 
Callaghan  knows?" 

Agnes  walked  slowly  to  the  window  and  back 
again.  She  was  strangely  quiet.  She  did  not  even 
look  at  Drummond,  who  had  seated  himself  on  the 
arm  of  a  chair,  and  was  staring  straight  before  him 
with  a  haggard  face. 

"There  is  one  thing,"  said  Agnes,  "that  I  do  not 
understand  in  the  least.  You  have  kept  the  secret 


THE  GENTLEMAN  FROM  SALINAS    373 

well — all  these  years.  It  seemed  safe  as  the  grave; 
it  has  even  fooled  the  Bar  and  the  House  of  Lords. 
Why  do  you  tell  it  me  now?" 

The  Sefiora  rose. 

"Because,"  she  said,  scarcely  audible,  "Pedro  is 
in  England.  He  is  here.  Not  an  hour  ago  I  saw 
him,  at  the  gates  of  the  park.  Though  it  is  twenty 
years  and  more  since  he  passed  out  of  my  life,  I 
recognised  Pedro.  Do  you  think  I  could  be  mistaken. 
It  is  not  hard  to  guess  what  he  has  come  for!" 

She  grasped  her  daughter  by  the  arm. 

"To  make  our  life  a  hell!"  said  the  Sefiora.  "To 
threaten,  to  bully,  to  wring  hush-money  from  us, 
because  a  word  from  him  would  strip  us  of  all  we 
have.  Pedro,  my  husband,  I  know  you  over-well!" 

There  was  a  faint,  crackling  noise  at  the  window. 
It  opened  inwards,  and  a  man  stepped  quietly  into 
the  room.  He  was  small,  lean,  and  swarthy,  with 
crisp,  grizzled  hair,  a  leathery  skin,  and  beady  little 
eyes.  They  were  wonderfully  like  the  eyes  of  the 
wild  pigs  that  root  in  the  Southern  forests. 

For  a  moment  no  one  spoke.  The  intruder's  glance 
roved  over  the  rich  appointment  of  the  room,  then 
rested  on  the  two  women,  and  finally  upon  Drum- 
mond.  Hat  in  hand,  he  smiled  and  bowed  low, 
uttering  a  greeting  in  sibilant  Spanish. 

"Ladies,"  he  said  gently,  "your  most  obedient, 
devoted  servant." 

Neither  of  the  women  answered  him.  Agnes  had 
moved  to  her  mother's  side.  Drummond  stared  at 
the  intruder  in  blank  dismay. 

"How  good  of  you,"  said  the  stranger,  still  smiling 


374    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

fixedly,  "to  receive  me  in  this  splendid  mansion.  I, 
so  shabby,  so  poor  and  obscure.  Let  me  present 
myself:  Don  Diego  Silvas,  a  humble  gentleman  of 
Florida — but  I  think  you  know  me.  If  this  Senor 
will  be  so  amiable  as  to  retire,  there  is  a  trifling 
message  I  have  to  deliver  to  you  privately." 

"The  Senor  Drummond,"  said  the  Senora  un- 
steadily, "is  my  daughter's  betrothed.  He  knows 
who  you  are.  He  knows  all  there  is  to  know.  I 
have  told  him — everything." 

The  man's  yellow  face  twitched.  He  looked  wholly 
disconcerted. 

"So?"  he  said.  "That  seems  to  me  indiscreet. 
However,  the  Senor,  then,  must  be  included  in  the 
little  arrangement  that  is  to  come.  I,  a  person  of 
no  importance " 

' '  Enough  of  that ! ' '  said  the  Senora  huskily.  ' '  You 
are  my  husband,  Pedro  De  Castra,  whom  I  believed 
long  since  dead " 

"That  I  can  well  believe,"  interposed  De  Castra. 
"And  from  whom  I  have  never  had  anything  but 
treachery,  cruelty,  and  avarice.  I  was  a  happy 
woman  till  I  met  you.  I  have  sinned,  and  paid  a 
bitter  price;  it  was  deserved.  You  deserted  me, 
allowed  it  to  be  believed  that  you  were  dead,  and  I 
owe  you  nothing. 

"I  know  why  you  are  here,"  she  continued,  her 
voice  sinking  still  lower;  "it  is  to  trade  upon  and 
profit  by  my  dishonour.  That  being  the  only 
certainty,  say  what  you  have  to  say  quickly." 

De  Castra  smiled. 

"Always   direct  and   straightforward,   Mercedes. 


THE  GENTLEMAN  FROM  SALINAS    375 

How  like  you.  Agreed,  then.  I  am  your  husband. 
The  gravestone  at  Santa  Inez  that  bears  my  name, 
bears  nothing  but  a  lie.  I  can  solve  that  riddle.  I 
can  prove  my  identity ;  and  no  one  but  I  can  do  it." 

He  turned  his  eyes  upon  Agnes. 

"And  this  adorable  young  Visconda  is  my  daughter 
then ;  she  has  a  right  to  my  name,  although  she  uses 
another.  She  is  possibly  free  from  blame.  Blessed 
moment!  What  a  flood  of  paternal  emotion  wells 
up  in  my  heart.  I  admire  your  taste  in  diamonds, 
Agnes ;  I  have  never  been  able  to  afford  any  myself, 
but  you  adorn  diamonds.  However,  to  the  point. 

"Mercedes,  I  have  only  to  open  my  lips,  to  carry 
this  tale  and  the  proofs  of  it  to  the  proper  quarter, 
and  everything  that  you  and  your  daughter  hold 
will  be  stripped  from  you.     You  agree? " 

"It  is  perfectly  true,"  replied  Senora  De  Castra. 

"Good.  Consider  then,  that  this  visit  had  never 
been  made.  I  exist  only  in  your  imagination.  The 
Senor  Drummond  also  gains  everything  by  so  simple 
an  arrangement.  For  this,  of  course,  a  price  has  to 
be  paid." 

"And  I  tell  you,  once  and  for  always,"  said  Mer- 
cedes, "that  I  will  pay  you  nothing." 

De  Castra  laughed,  but  his  small  eyes  looked 
savagely  at  his  wife. 

"You  waste  time,"  he  sneered;  "you  are  trying  to 
cheapen  the  bargain.  You  were  never  a  fool  about 
money.  Perhaps  you  think  I  fear  to  make  myself 
known  on  account  of  one  or  two  little  difficulties 
in  my  early  career.  Those  no  longer  count.  With 
such  a  prize  in  view  I  will  face  them  willingly.  Un- 


376    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

less  I  get  my  terms  in  full,  I  go  to  the  Englishman, 
Mottisfont.  I  have  you,"  he  concluded  fiercely,  "as 
tightly  as  a  rabbit  in  a  steel  trap.  Enough  of  this 
fooling;  you  will  pay  the  price  I  dictate." 

The  Senora  stepped  nearer  to  him.  Her  face  had 
faded  to  a  lemon  yellow.  There  was  despair  in  her 
eyes,  but  there  was  resolution. 

"Pedro,"  she  said,  "you  know  how  to  bully  a 
woman.  But  this  time  you  come  too  late.  Do  what 
you  will,  and  let  the  truth  be  known.  For  I  know 
what  the  end  will  be.  I  refuse.  I  refuse!" 

De  Castra  stared  at  her,  amazed.  He  saw  that 
she  meant  precisely  what  she  said.  For  the  time  he 
was  entirely  at  a  loss.  An  enormous  gap  lay  between 
this  clumsy  rogue's  handling  of  the  situation,  and  the 
master-mind  of  Callaghan.  Pedro  had  made  a  false 
step.  The  Senora's  voice  rose  almost  to  a  scream. 

"Neither  I,  nor  any  one  with  me,  will  deal  with 
you!"  she  said  hysterically.  "If  they  do,  I  will  cry 
the  truth  from  the  house-tops!  I — I " 

The  Senora  swayed,  and  sank  into  a  chair.  The 
next  moment  she  had  fainted.  Before  any  one  could 
speak,  De  Castra  turned  to  Agnes. 

' '  What  say  you  ?  "  he  said  quickly.  ' '  You  at  least 
are  not  an  imbecile.  Will  you  let  a  million  slip 
through  your  fingers?" 

Agnes  looked  him  in  the  face.  A  tiny  gleam  shone 
in  the  eyes  behind  the  drooping  lashes.  Drummond 
knew  the  sign;  De  Castra  did  not.  She  did  not 
answer  him  in  Spanish,  and  she  spoke  with  remark- 
able quietness  as  yet. 
.  "My  mother  has  said  her  piece,"  she  replied.  "I 


THE  GENTLEMAN  FROM  SALINAS    377 

stand  by  her — she  talked  sense.  Get  me?"  she 
added,  with  a  sudden  movement. 

"You  dare  not  let  this  fortune  go!"  cried  Pedro. 

"But  I  do,"  she  replied.  "Sooner  than  be  bled 
white  by  a  Florida  horse-leech.  I'll  lose  it  anyhow 
at  the  finish.  I've  done." 

De  Castra  grinned  with  rage  and  exasperation. 
His  appeal  seemed  utterly  wasted  on  the  pair  who 
stood  staring  at  him  rigidly.  He  could  not  understand 
it.  And  then  Pedro  played  the  card  he  should  have 
led  first. 

"What  of  your  lover?"  he  said  savagely.  "That 
moves  you,  does  it?  This  young  Drummond,  to 
whom  they  say  you  are  betrothed.  You  lose  him 
too!  Will  he  marry  a  pauper  half-caste?  Look  at 
his  face  and  see  your  answer.  You  little  fool,  unless 
you  pay  me " 

Drummond  gave  a  stifled  exclamation  and  stepped 
swiftly  forward;  in  another  moment  Pedro  would 
have  found  himself  on  his  back.  But  the  man 
whipped  out  a  pistol. 

"Keep  your  distance  Senor,"  said  Pedro. 
"Remain  precisely  where  you  are." 

Drummond,  white  with  anger,  checked  as  the 
pistol  covered  him,  and  hesitated  a  moment.  He 
was  mentally  measuring  his  chance,  for  he  saw  the 
man  would  fire.  Before  either  could  move,  Agnes 
interposed  with  extreme  effectiveness.  The  pent 
fires  broke  out. 

With  a  wild  cry  she  snatched  a  knife  from  the  table 
and  sprang  at  De  Castra  like  a  tigress. 

"Agnes!"     cried    Drummond,    flinging    himself 


378    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

between,  and  catching  her  just  in  time.  "No — for 
Heaven's  sake!" 

De  Castra  sprang  back  hastily  out  of  reach,  and 
Drummond's  intervention  alone  saved  him.  His 
swarthy  cheeks  lost  their  colour.  Agnes  struggled 
madly  to  free  herself,  but  Drummond,  appalled  no 
less  than  Pedro  by  the  fury  of  her  attack,  held  her 
fast,  and  his  strength  was  too  much  for  her.  De 
Castra  backed  away  still  farther,  and  lowered  the 
useless  pistol. 

"This,"  he  stammered,  "is  scarcely  filial." 

"Let  me  go!"  screamed  Agnes,  writhing. 
"Lemme  get  at  him!" 

"Go,  you  fool!"  exclaimed  Drummond,  "or  I'll 
turn  her  loose!" 

The  words  were  hardly  out  of  his  mouth  when  De 
Castra  turned  and  fled.  It  was  not  a  dignified  exit. 
He  stumbled  through  the  window  and  bolted  head- 
long into  the  darkness. 

Agnes  ceased  to  struggle,  and  gasped  faintly;  at 
the  moment  when  Drummond  released  her,  a  man 
sprang  in  through  the  window  and  looked  round  him 
swiftly;  a  tall,  gaunt  man,  with  fierce  eyes.  It  was 
John  Goodenough. 

"Good  lad!"  he  said  to  Drummond.  "You  were 
in  time." 

He  glanced  at  Agnes  and  at  the  limp  form  of  the 
Senora  in  the  chair. 

"Heaven  pity  you  both,"  he  said  quietly.  He 
turned  again  without  a  word,  and  stepping  through 
the  open  window,  vanished  like  a  shadow  into  the 
night. 


THE  GENTLEMAN  FROM  SALINAS    379 

"Who  on  earth,"  gasped  Agnes,  staring  blankly, 
"was  that?" 

Drummond's  face  was  white  as  marble;  the  per- 
spiration stood  on  his  forehead,  and  he  trembled 
slightly.  He  did  not  answer  her  question. 

"See  after  your  mother,"  he  said  hoarsely  moving 
to  the  door.  ' '  I'm  going  to  get  out  of  this ! " 


CHAPTER  XXX 

EXIT  LORD  TALLBOIS 

PHILIP  MOTTISFONT  paused  on  his  way  past  his 
wife's  door.  She  had  been  restless  and  troubled  of 
late.  Midnight  was  striking.  Philip  had  been  at 
work  for  many  hours,  but  there  was  no  rest  for  him 
yet.  He  passed  down  into  the  little  study  at  the 
back,  carrying  some  papers. 

It  was  difficult  to  concentrate  on  them.  For  some 
time  he  sat  at  the  desk,  with  hands  pressed  to  his 
temples,  vainly  seeking  a  plan  of  action.  The  room 
was  deathly  cold.  With  a  little  shiver,  Mottisfont 
rose  and  went  into  the  sitting-room.  The  lights  were 
switched  off,  and  the  fire  had  burned  low. 

"Good  evening,  Mottisfont/'  said  a  quiet  voice. 

Mottisfont  started,  and  became  aware  of  a  dim 
figure  reclining  in  the  easy  chair,  and  the  faint  glow 
of  a  cigar. 

"Who  is  that?"  he  exclaimed  sharply,  and 
switched  on  the  light.  Two  brooding  eyes  and  a 
faint,  ironic  smile  met  Philip's  stare. 

"Goodenough!"  he  exclaimed,  recognizing  the 
ex-footman  of  Knay th.  ' '  What  on  earth ? ' ' 

"Forgive  this  informality,  Mottisfont,  but  this 
will  be  my  last  appearance,  and  I  have  vital  news 
that  requires  your  attention,"  said  the  visitor.  He 

380 


EXIT  LORD  TALLBOIS  381 

spoke  not  at  all  as  a  servant,  but  as  an  equal.  "Is 
your  wife  asleep?" 

Philip  shut  the  door  abruptly,  and  stood  between 
it  and  the  seated  man. 

"We  will  have  an  explanation,"  he  said  rather 
grimly.  "I  have  been  reflecting  much  upon  you  of 
late,  Goodenough.  There  is  a  mystery  about  you 
which  is  going  to  be  solved  before  you  leave  this 
room.  In  the  first  place,  I  am  going  to  know  exactly 
who  you  are!" 

"It  is  that  very  information,"  said  the  visitor, 
' '  which  I  have  come  here  to  give  you. ' '  He  rose,  and 
standing  with  his  back  to  the  fireplace,  looked  at 
Philip  reflectively.  ' '  I  will  tell  you  what  I  would  tell 
no  one  else  living — honest  man.  I  am  Lord  Tallbois 
of  Knayth." 

Philip's  first  conviction  was  that  Goodenough  had 
suddenly  become  insane.  And  yet,  as  he  looked  into 
the  speaker's  eyes,  a  dreadful  tremor  of  doubt  seized 
him.  An  errant  thought,  that  had  many  times 
stolen  into  his  mind  during  the  past  month,  crystal- 
lized and  took  shape. 

"I  do  not  offer  you  proofs,"  said  his  companion 
quietly.  "You  are  intelligent  enough  to  recognize 
truth  when  you  hear  it.  My  birth-name  is  William 
Tallbois,  later  known  to  the  police  as  Jim  Carey. 
And  as  Sergeant  Le  Mesurier,  of  the  Foreign  Legion, 
I  was  believed  to  have  fallen  in  France.  Legally 
dead  as  I  am,  the  Law  does  not  hunt  me,  since  it  does 
not  dream  that  I  exist.  Yet  I  stand  before  you  in 
the  flesh.  I  am  Joan's  father." 

Philip's  face  went  deadly  white.    He  shrank  back 


382    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

a  step,  as  one  shrinks  from  a  thing  that  is  monstrous. 

"I  believe  you,"  he  said  finally,  his  eyes  fixed  on 
the  man's  face.  "Now  I  see  the  truth  at  last.  And 
I  have  no  choice  but  to  believe  you." 

Lord  Tallbois  remained  silent. 
"And  I've  only  this  to  say,"  added  Philip  hoarsely, 
"one  can  but  wonder  how  Providence  allows  such 
men  as  you  to  defile  the  earth.  It  makes  me  sick  to 
think  I  am  here  in  the  room  with  you ;  under  the  same 
roof  as — my  wife ! ' ' 

For  once  Lord  Tallbois  flinched,  as  if  he  had  been 
struck.  He  bowed  his  head. 

"All  that,"  he  said  very  gently,  "is  perfectly  true, 
I  offer  no  defence,  Mottisfont.  If  there  is  a  hell 
beyond  the  grave  it  can  be  no  worse  than  I  have 
endured  here.  I  have  suffered  to  the  uttermost 
frontiers  of  suffering.  It  is  very  just." 

"You!"  said  Philip  fiercely.  "Who  cares  what 
you  endure?  Your  daughter  is  the  sacrifice.  Joan's 
only  fault  is  that  she  must  own  you  for  her  father. 
You,  who  left  her  without  even  a  name !  You,  who 
dishonoured  her  mother  and  threw  the  child  adrift 
to  bear  the  burden!" 

There  was  a  rasping  sound  in  Tallbois'  throat.  He 
raised  his  head  suddenly,  and  stood  upright. 

"No!"  he  said  unsteadily,  "not  that,  Mottisfont — 
not  that!  Black  as  my  record  is,  I  plead  not  guilty 
there.  It  was  the  cruelty  of  Fate — the  devilry  of 
circumstance.  Joan,  and  Joan's  mother — the  only 
living  beings  I  ever  cared  for!" 

He  passed  a  trembling  hand  across  his  forehead. 

"I  have  listened  to  this  from  you,"  he  said  gently; 


EXIT  LORD  TALLBOIS  383 

"any  other  man  I  would  have  killed.  But  you — I 
know  your  motive  and  respect  it.  Let  us  return  to 
actualities.  I  have  to  tell  you  that,  in  a  very  short 
time,  Joan  will  re-enter  into  her  birthright  as  Lady 
Tallbois  of  Knayth — of  which  only  an  infernal  in- 
justice has  deprived  her.  You  are  the  man  who  will 
lead  her  into  that  kingdom." 

Philip  heard  this  in  silence.  The  blood  slowly 
left  his  face  and  surged  back  again. 

"Lord  Tallbois,"  he  said,  "is  this  true?" 

"  It  is  true.  And  I  demand  that  you  hear  my  story 
for  events  are  moving  swiftly  to  their  conclusion,  and 
you  must  act  at  once." 

Philip  seated  himself,  and  leaning  his  arms  on  the 
table,  scanned  Tallbois'  face  intently. 

"Go  on,"  he  said,  "I  will  hear  you." 

"In  order  that  you  may  understand,"  said  Lord 
Tallbois,  "I  must  first  transport  you,  in  the  spirit, 
to  a  little  settlement  called  Salinas,  South  Florida." 

In  a  level,  passionless  voice,  he  gave  Philip  very 
much  the  same  history  as  the  Seriora  De  Castra,  a 
few  hours  earlier,  had  related  to  her  daughter. 

"And  so,"  concluded  Lord  Tallbois,  "finding  that 
Mercedes  De  Castra  was  not,  and  never  could  be,  my 
wife,  and  that  she  knew  it  well,  I  cut  adrift  from  her 
immediately  and  absolutely.  With  much  bitterness, 
I  confess.  Nor  did  I  set  eyes  on  her  again." 

"You  left  her?"  said  Philip. 

"Yes,"  said  Lord  Tallbois.  "I  left  her.  It  was 
finished." 

Philip's  brows  knitted,  and  his  eyes  grew  hard. 
"And  your  daughter  also?"  he  said. 


384   THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

Lord  Tallbois  met  his  gaze  squarely. 

"Mottisfont,"  said  Tallbois  very  quietly,  "she  is 
not  my  daughter.  Agnes  De  Castra  is — Agnes  De 
Castra." 

There  was  a  long  silence.  At  last  the  young  K.C.  's 
searching  eyes  turned  away  from  the  older  man's 
worn  face. 

"Go  on,  Lord  Tallbois,"  he  said  gently.  "What 
happened  to  you  then?" 

''Facile  descensus,  Averni,"  said  Tallbois,  "the 
beginning  of  the  descent  into  hell.  With  your  per- 
mission I  will  obliterate  my  movements  during  the 
following  few  months.  They  do  not  matter,  remark- 
ing only  that  I  was  sorry  for  the  woman,  and  am 
sorry  for  her  now ;  her  lot  was  a  hard  one.  But  there 
are  things  one  cannot  do. 

"I  was  not,  perhaps,  wholly  black  in  those  days. 
After  some  months  I  felt  a  certain  compunction;  I 
even  went  back  to  Salinas  to  see  if  anything  could  be 
done  for  her.  I  had  left  with  her  what  little  money 
and  property  I  had — she  was  welcome  to  those.  But 
she  had  gone — passed  out — vanished  entirely.  She 
and  that  yellow  jackal  who  was,  in  fact  and  in  law, 
her  husband. 

"I  was  hardly  more  than  a  boy  then,"  said  Lord 
Tallbois  reflectively,  "and  I  thought  that  I  had  done 
with  women  for  ever,  that  I  would  never  trust  one 
again.  The  young  are  apt  to  think  such  things. 
In  less  than  a  year  I  met  Helen  Lloyd  in  Georgia. 
There  was  never  such  a  woman  in  this  world  before, 
as  Helen  Lloyd.  I  fell  in  love  with  her.  And  I 
married  her." 


EXIT  LORD  TALLBOIS  385 

A  strange  light  played  in  the  sombre  eyes. 

"I  married  her — with  this  previous  folly  still 
hanging  over  my  head.  I  do  not  know  quite  what  I 
deserve  for  that.  But,  after  all,  Mercedes  De  Castra 
was  not  my  wife.  I  kept  that  secret,  and  I  thought 
that  if  ever  trouble  should  come  I  could  prove  it 
easily.  Or  perhaps  I  did  not  think  at  all.  Who  can 
guess  all  the  amazing  things  that  Fate  may  have  in 
store  for  him? 

"I  had  left  my  name  and  my  identity  in  the  sea 
when  the  ship  that  brought  me  out  went  down.  But 
I  revived  it.  I  could  give  Helen  no  other  name  than 
the  name  which  was  mine  by  right.  And  in  that 
little  forgotten  town  of  Georgia  I  married  her  as 
William  Travers  Tallbois.  And  I  knew  just  one  year 
of  perfect  happiness  and  peace. 

"I  still  believe  that  if  Helen  had  lived  I  should 
never  have  been — what  I  afterwards  became.  She 
was  the  first  good  influence  that  entered  my  life. 
But  in  a  year  she  was  taken  from  me,  leaving  an 
infant  daughter — Joan. 

"The  light  went  out  of  my  life.  It  seemed 
that  I  hated  all  mankind.  I  went  North — and  fell 
into  the  Pit.  Let  me  offer  no  excuses.  I  will 
touch  lightly  on  this,  for  you  know  most  of  it 
already. 

"The  child  was  put  into  the  charge  of  an  excellent, 
honest  woman — Janet  Mackellar.  By  and  by  there 
came  into  my  heart  a  longing  to  see  little  Joan.  But 
things  had  happened  in  the  meantime  that  made  it 
impossible  for  me  to  make  myself  known.  I  was  an 
outlaw.  Joan,  as  you  have  learned  already,  did  not 


386    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

know  me  as  her  father.  Even  in  those  days  I  could 
not  claim  my  own  child. 

"Janet  Mackellar  hated  me.  She  hated  even  my 
rare  visits  to  Joan.  Her  instinct  was  perfectly  sound. 
She  would  not  use  the  money  I  used  to  send  for  the 
child's  support.  Finally  she  fled,  taking  Joan  with 
her.  And  so  I  lost  Joan. 

"I  pass  over  my  own  intermediate  career — the  less 
said  about  it  the  better — and  come  to  the  War  and 
my  enlistment  in  the  Foreign  Legion.  One  day  my 
section  was  wiped  out  by  a  shell.  I  was  wounded 
and  taken  prisoner. 

' '  I  gave  the  Boches  not  my  own  name,  but  the  name 
of  one  of  my  comrades  who  had  been  blown  to  rags, 
and  so  had  no  further  use  for  it.  Why?  Because  it 
is  my  first  instinct  to  cover  my  identity  and  conceal 
my  traces  wherever  I  go,  for  I  was  one  of  the  hunted 
of  the  earth.  The  Boches  sent  me,  with  other  prison- 
ers, to  East  Prussia.  Later,  I  escaped  into  Russia, 
and  eventually  reached  England. 

"That  little  camouflage  of  mine  was  helped  out  by 
luck.  The  Legion  had  buried  what  there  was  left  of 
my  brother  sergeant,  under  my  name.  He  was  re- 
ported missing,  and  I,  Sergeant  Le  Mesurier,  was 
posted  as  killed.  Nothing  surprising  in  that,  Philip. 
Such  things  happened  a  hundred  times  over  in  the 
War.  These  little  errors  do  creep  in  when  thou- 
sands of  men  are  being  spread  over  the  ground  by  high 
explosives. 

"So  I  arrived  in  England — nameless  and  legally 
dead,  to  find  myself  actually  Lord  Tallbois  of  Knayth 
and  a  gift  for  the  hangman  (I  confess  it !)  if  I  were  so 


EXIT  LORD  TALLBOIS  38? 

ill-advised  as  to  come  to  life.  An  ironic  situation, 
Mottisfont.  But  very  little  I  cared,  for  I  had  made 
a  greater  discovery  yet ;  I  found  Joan ! 

"Also,"  he  added,  with  peculiar  bitterness,  "I 
found  an  old  associate  of  evil  days — Callaghan. 
There  is  no  blacker  beast  living.  Callaghan  knows 
all  there  is  to  be  known  about  me,  and  thinking  me 
dead,  he  was  before  me  with  Joan.  He  had  the 
proofs ;  he  was  about  to  exploit  and  rob  my  daughter. 
A  little  surprise  for  Callaghan  to  find  me  back  from 
the  grave.  Behold,  a  deadlock.  Either  of  us  could 
have  sent  the  other  to  the  last  penalty  of  the  Law. 
Neither  could  do  so  without  betraying  himself.  I, 
being  legally  dead,  held  the  stronger  hand. 

"It  was  I  who  rent  away  the  proofs  from  him,  and 
sent  them  to  you.  Joan  came  into  her  own.  But 
Callaghan  had  a  higher  card  to  play.  For  once  he 
knew  more  than  I.  He  held  Mercedes  De  Castra  and 
her  daughter  in  reserve.  I  did  not  know  she  was 
alive — nor  even  that  Agnes  De  Castra  existed.  It 
was  a  master-stroke. 

"Then  came  disaster.  I  had  barely  the  hope  of 
ever  being  able  to  find  proof  of  Pedro  De  Castra's 
survival.  That  one  thing  was  the  key  to  the  whole 
riddle.  There  seemed  no  chance  of  unearthing  it. 

"I  confess  I  was  in  despair.  There  seemed 
nothing  left  to  do  but  to  make  my  settlement  with 
Callaghan;  to  blot  him  out  and  then  throw  in  my 
hand.  But  I  still  held  a  few  threads ;  I  had  resources, 
and  these  I  followed  up.  I  went  to  Liverpool,  in- 
tending to  sail  for  Florida  on  that  quest. 

"At  Liverpool  the  quest  ended,  and  I  did  not  leave 


388    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

English  soil.  For,  by  an  amazing  trick  of  Fate,  I 
found  the  very  thing  I  sought.  Not  the  twenty- 
year-old  story  of  De  Castra  and  his  vanished  identity 
— but  De  Castra  himself — newly  landed  from  a 
Western  Ocean  liner.  He  did  not  know  me.  I  omit 
details,  but  my  own  suspicions  were  quickly  aroused ; 
I  have  verified  them  fully  since  he  has  been  in  Eng- 
land. The  man  is  no  other  than  Pedro,  the  sefiora's 
husband." 

Lord  Tallbois  lifted  a  warning  hand. 

"Now  this  yellow  cur  was  here,  of  course,  for  out 
one  thing.  To  blackmail  the  so-called  Viscountess 
Tallbois  and  her  mother.  I  had  to  make  certain, 
and  I  have  watched  developments  with  extreme  care. 
The  result  has  been  what  I  expected.  Tonight,  not 
many  hours  ago,  he  presented  himself  at  Knayth, 
and  attempted  to  make  terms  with  the  De  Castra 
women.  He  is  a  clumsy  dog,  and  it  seems  the 
attempt  failed.  Doubtless  the  girl  and  her  mother 
saw  what  the  end  would  be  if  they  gave  in  to  him. 
Whatever  their  motive,  they  refused — let  that  be 
accounted  to  them  for  grace. 

"Mottisfont,"  concluded  Lord  Tallbois  quietly, 
"you  hold  De  Castra  in  the  hollow  of  your  hand." 
He  passed  a  folded  paper  to  Philip.  "Here  is  his 
description,  the  name  he  goes  by,  and  most  vital  of  all, 
the  means  of  proving  his  identity.  One  of  two  things 
he  will  certainly  do.  Either  fasten  himself  to  the  De 
Castras,  in  which  case  you  need  only  have  him  inter- 
cepted. Or,  which  is  more  likely,  he  will  come  and 
try  to  bleed  you  heavily,  since  he  believes  that  he 
holds  all  the  cards.  So,  indeed,  he  does.  But  I 


EXIT  LORD  TALLBOIS  389 

have  placed  the  master-card  in  your  hands,  and  you 
can  lay  bare  the  facts  at  one  stroke  when  you  get  hold 
of  him.  It  is  so  easy  that  I  need  say  no  more  to  a 
man  of  your  capacity.  That  is  your  task,  and  I  leave 
it  to  you  with  confidence.  Joan  is  Lady  Tallbois  of 
Knayth." 

Philip  rose  to  his  feet.     His  face  was  very  white. 

4 '  You  have  made  it  clear  enough, ' '  he  said.  ' 4  It  is 
wonderful — and,  also,  it  is  terrible.  But  I  do  not 
follow  the  last  thing  you  said.  Joan  is  not  Lady 
Tallbois.  For  her,  such  a  position  would  be  a  living 
lie.  I  will  never  consent  that  she  should  claim  it;  I 
cannot  bolster  up  this  fiction  that  you  are  dead; 
nor  will  I  ever  benefit  by  it." 

Lord  Tallbois  smiled  grimly. 

4 'Within  twenty -four  hours,"  he  said,  "that 
difficulty  will  no  longer  exist." 

Philip  stared  at  him  and  gave  a  little  shiver. 
4 4 1  do  not  ask  what  you  mean, ' '  he  said.     4 4 1  do  not 
understand  you.     You  are  keeping  something  back 
from  me." 

Tallbois'  smile  became  grimmer  still. 

"I  do  not  understand  myself,"  he  replied  quietly. 
"The  Tallbois  differ  in  their  basic  influences.  It  is 
strange  that  I  should  be  Joan's  father,  is  it  not?  For 
she  is  that  supreme  work  of  God,  a  good  woman. 
I  have  only  known  one  other.  Joan  is  incapable  of 
anything  base.  Whereas  I — "  he  shrugged  his 
shoulders  faintly — "am  the  most  unutterable  black- 
guard that  ever  went  adrift  as  a  scourge  on  Society. 
I  have  examined  myself  impartially,  Mottisfont,  to 
find  I  have  not  a  single  redeeming  quality." 


390    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

"I  agree  with  your  first  point,"  said  Philip.  "Of 
the  second,  I  feel  a  doubt.  And,"  he  added,  flushing 
a  little,  "I  offer  you  a  qualified  apology  for  what  I 
said  when  you  arrived.  I  went  too  far." 

Lord  Tallbois  shook  his  head. 

"By  no  means  too  far.  But  you  have  the  gener- 
osity and  the  sentiment  of  youth,  Philip;  I  thank  you 
for  that  word.  You  have  been  tried  in  the  fire  and 
you  are  metal  of  proof,  a  worthy  mate  for  Joan.  I, 
who  am  past  forgiveness,  humbly  thank  God  that  she 
has  such  a  husband." 

He  straightened  himself  and  looked  Philip  in  the 
face. 

"And  now  let  us  get  to  work,"  he  said.  "You 
see  your  way?" 

"No!"  said  Philip  quickly,  "for  there  is  one  vital 
obstacle.  What  of  this  infamous  devil,  Callaghan? 
He  and  his  associates.  We  have  lost  sight  of  that. 
Whatever  the  cost  to  any  of  us,  justice  must  be 
done." 

"Justice  will  be  done,"  said  Lord  Tallbois  softly. 
"It  is  in  my  hands.  To-morrow  Callaghan  proposes 
to  leave  England.  I  will  do  him  the  credit  to  say 
that  all  Scotland  Yard  would  not  stop  him.  But 
first  he  has  to  settle  with  me.  I  shall  deal  with 
Callaghan.  That  is  my  task — as  yours  is  to  ensure 
Joan's  rights  for  her." 

He  came  a  little  nearer. 

"  Callaghan 's  career  is  ended,  Mottisfont.  What 
the  police  have  failed  in,  I  shall  humbly  achieve.  It 
is  quite  useless  for  you  or  any  man  to  intervene. 
Callaghan's  fate — and  mine — are  very  near.  It  is 


EXIT  LORD  TALLBOIS  391 

better  so — better  for  Joan,  and  for  you.  I  go  now," 
he  said,  taking  his  hat  from  the  table,  "to  my 
task." 

He  paused,  and  looked  at  Philip  strangely. 

"This,  Mottisfont,  is  my  final  exit.  Neither  she 
nor  you  will  be  troubled  with  me  again.  To  that 
I  pledge  my  word.  But  one  thing  remains  before  I 
leave  you.  I  must  see  Joan.  I  must  take  my  leave 
of  her." 

Mottisfont  groaned.  The  perspiration  stood  upon 
his  forehead  as  he  looked  at  the  speaker. 

"Tallbois,"  he  said  hoarsely,  "you  ask  what  is 
impossible.  Do  you  believe,  for  a  moment,  I  will 
expose  her  to  the  shock — to  the  knowledge " 

"To  neither,"  replied  Lord  Tallbois  quietly. 
"Never  in  this  world  shall  Joan  know  that  the 
shadow  in  her  life,  the  lost  soul  that  strove  to  shield 
her,  was,  indeed,  herfather.  Tell  me — issheasleep?  " 

"Yes." 

"Let  me  see  her;  you  need  not  be  afraid.  It  is  a 
dead  man  who  asks  you." 

Philip  found  a  difficulty  in  speaking. 

"God  help  you,  Tallbois,"  he  said  hoarsely.  "It 
is  not  for  me  to  refuse  you." 

He  led  the  way  upstairs,  and  very  gently  opening 
Joan's  door,  looked  within.  He  made  a  sign  to 
Tallbois. 

The  man  came  forward,  entered  the  room  silently, 
and  stood  motionless. 

There  was  a  faint  light  from  a  gas-mantle,  turned 
low.  Joan's  head  lay  on  the  pillow,  fair  and  deli- 
cate as  a  flower ;  a  stray  wisp  of  hair  drifted  across  her 


392    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

cheek.  Her  hand  hung  down  over  the  coverlet. 
She  smiled  faintly  in  her  sleep. 

With  bowed  head,  Lord  Tallbois  looked  at  her.  He 
moved  forward  noiselessly  as  a  shadow,  and  dropping 
on  one  knee,  touched  reverently  with  his  lips  the 
pendant  hand. 

He  came  down  again  into  the  hall.  Philip  closed 
Joan's  door.  Lord  Tallbois  did  not  offer  his  hand, 
but  made  him  a  little  bow  of  farewell. 

"Moriturus  te  salutat,"  he  said. 

There  came  a  sharp,  authoritative  knock  at  the 
front  door.  It  jarred  on  Philip's  nerves  and  made 
him  start.  Lord  Tallbois  flitted  from  his  side  as 
noiselessly  as  a  shadow  and  passed  into  the  darkened 
study. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

TRAPPED 

FOR  a  moment  Philip  stood  hesitating.  The  knock 
was  repeated.  With  a  curious  sense  of  foreboding, 
he  moved  to  the  front  door  and  opened  it.  Com- 
missioner Mervyn  from  Scotland  Yard  was  standing 
on  the  step,  and  behind  him  a  burly  looking  man  in 
tweeds,  whom  Philip  did  not  know. 

"I  must  see  you  at  once,  Mottisfont,  on  a  most 
urgent  matter,"  said  Mervyn,  passing  into  the  hall 
without  waiting  for  an  invitation.  "This  is  In- 
spector Brancepeth,  from  the  Yard." 

"Come  in,"  said  Philip,  and  he  led  the  way  into 
the  sitting-room,  the  two  men  following. 

"Are  you  alone?"  asked  Mervyn. 

"My  wife  is  upstairs,"  replied  Philip.  "Wait  a 
moment  and  I  will  be  with  you." 

Greatly  perturbed,  he  left  the  room  and  slipped 
into  the  study. 

"Tallbois!"  he  whispered.     "Tallbois!" 

No  answer.  Philip  turned  on  the  light.  There 
were  heavy  window-curtains,  and  a  cupboard-door 
standing  open,  but  no  Lord  Tallbois.  It  was  a 
ground-floor  room,  with  a  small  garden  behind;  the 
window  was  closed.  Philip  gave  a  sigh  of  relief. 
The  next  moment  he  found  Mervyn  at  his  elbow. 

393 


394   THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

"I  asked  you  if  you  were  alone,  Mottisfont,"  he 
said  again. 

"Certainly  I  am  alone!"  said  Philip  sharply, 
"except  for  the  unexpected  pleasure  of  your  com- 
pany, and  that  of  the  policeman.  What  then?" 

"All  right,  my  dear  fellow,"  said  Mervyn  sooth- 
ingly. "I  only  wanted  an  answer.  I  apologize. 
Brancepeth!" 

The  inspector  came  in. 

"Wait  here,  Brancepeth,  will  you?  Now,  Mottis- 
font, if  you'll  come  into  the  other  room,  I  am  at 
your  service." 

"What  the  devil  is  this  about?"  said  Philip,  with 
a  touch  of  anger,  as  the  sitting-room  door  closed  on 
them  both. 

Mervyn  seated  himself  and  hesitated.  He  was 
looking  unusually  grave. 

"Mottisfont,  information  of  an  extraordinary 
character  has  been  sent  to  the  Yard.  Its  source  is 
suspect,  it  may  well  be  false;  yet  we  have  no  choice 
but  to  act  upon  it." 

"Go  on,  Mervyn,"  said  Philip  coolly,  though  his 
heart  was  beating  fast.  ' '  What  is  it  ? " 

"Briefly  this.  That  William  Tallbois  —  your 
wife's  father — long  believed  dead  and  whose  record 
we  know  only  too  well,  is  actually  alive  and  in 
London!" 

Mottisfont  said  nothing. 

"It  is  so  incredible  as  to  sound  like  a  fairy  tale," 
said  Mervyn,  "but  all  things  are  possible,  and  we 
have  evidence  in  our  hands  which  lends  colour  to  it. 
I  will  tell  you  at  once  that  I  myself  believe  it." 


TRAPPED  395 

"Well,"  said  Philip  quietly,  for  the  other  had 
paused.  ' '  What  then  ? ' ' 

"Why  this,"  said  Mervyn  slowly,  "and  remember 
that  I  am  speaking  now  unofficially — if  it  is  true,  it 
is  a  thousand  pities!  A  man  who  was  as  dead  as 
William  Tallbois  was  believed  and  proved  to  be  these 
two  years — should  stay  dead!  It  is  a  positive  in- 
decency for  him  to  come  to  life.  Tallbois  and  the 
man  known  to  the  American  police  as  Slim  Jim  Carey 
were  one  and  the  same.  His  record  is  enough  to  burn 
the  pages  of  the  police  books  it  is  written  in.  That 
record  ended  years  since.  He  is  supposed  to  lie  dead 
in  France.  His  resuscitation  can  only  bring  death 
to  himself — and  shame  and  distress  to  many  innocent 
people." 

"I  am  with  you  there,"  said  Philip  grimly. 

"Yet,"  said  Mervyn  sternly,  "there  is  no  choice 
in  the  matter.  If  my  information  is  true  this  male- 
factor must  be  caught,  brought  to  book,  and  made 
to  face  the  penalty  he  has  so  long  escaped." 

"Let  me  put  one  question,  Mervyn.  You  are 
clever  fellows,  you  C.I.D.  chiefs ;  I  am  the  first  to  own 
it.  But — could  you  catch,  let  us  say,  the  flame  of  a 
candle  after  it  had  been  blown  out?" 

Mervyn  smiled. 

"No,"  he  said,  "we  could  not  do  that." 

"In  my  opinion,"  said  Philip,  "you  are  equally 
incapable  of  catching  the  alleged  Jim  Carey.  He 
has  beaten  the  police  of  the  world  for  thirty  years. 
He  would  beat  you.  Even  assuming  that  he  is 
alive." 

"Mottisfont,"  said  Mervyn,   "I  put  it  to  you 


396    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

straight !  I  have  come  to  you  because  it  is  useless  to 
go  to  Lady  Tallbois  or  her  crowd.  But  I  have  cause 
now  to  believe  you,  Philip  Mottisfont,  K.C.,  know 
more  about  this  than  you  choose  to  say.  You  are 
skating  on  very  thin  ice,  Mottisfont.  I  am  close  on 
the  scent.  And  I  come  to  you  because  you  are  an 
honest  man." 
He  leaned  forward  and  peered  into  Philip's  face. 

"Do — you — know — anything — of  William  Tall- 
bois?" 

There  was  a  long  pause. 

"Mervyn,"  said  Philip  deliberately,  "I  shall  tell 
you  the  precise  truth,  for  no  other  course  is  possible. 
And  I  have  far  bigger  news  for  you  than  you  have 
brought  to  me.  Listen." 

He  told  Mervyn,  briefly  and  clearly,  all  that  Lord 
Tallbois  had  told  him,  keeping  back  only  the  date  of 
his  visit.  And  he  handed  Mervyn  the  paper  that 
Tallbois  had  given  him.  The  commissioner  listened 
to  the  end,  and  his  face  was  a  study.  At  last  he 
sprang  from  his  chair  as  if  propelled  by  springs. 

"Mottisfont!  This  is  stupendous!"  he  cried. 
"And  there  is  no  falsehood  here — I  see  bed-rock  truth 
in  it  at  last!  To  think  that  it  should  come  to  us 
through — Jim  Carey!" 

"The  truth  had  to  come  out,"  said  Philip.  "It 
may  seem  I  have  betrayed  his  confidence.  But  I 
think  not;  I  was  convinced  you  would  not  find  him." 

Mervyn  grasped  Philip  by  the  shoulder. 

"Mottisfont,"  he  said,  "I  am  thinking  far  less  of 
finding  Tallbois — no,  we  will  not  call  him  that;  Jim 
Carey,  I  mean — than  of  getting  hold  of  Pedro  De 


TRAPPED  397 

Castra.  He  comes  first!  Here  is  the  chance  of 
righting  a  terrible  wrong — of  doing  justice  at  last." 
His  face  lit  up.  ' '  We  will  have  this  slippery  customer 
— this  ineffable  Silvas  from  Florida,  who  holds  the 
key  to  the  situation — and  pin  him.  And  a  ticklish 
job  it's  going  to  be;  one  slip  will  bungle  it!  For  the 
honour  of  the  police  it  must  be  done." 

"For  Joan's  sake  it  must  be  done,"  said  Philip, 
"but  it  is  your  job,  Mervyn.  Not  even  for  Joan  can 
I  soil  my  hands  with  the  beast." 

"A  beast  he  is,"  agreed  Mervyn.  "Beside  him, 
the  other  is  at  least  a  man.  Upon  my  life  one  can't 
help  admiring  him.  I  could  almost  shake  hands  with 
him  for  sheer  admiration  for  the  amazing  fellow — I 
mean  the  unmitigated  scoundrel — who  has  steered 
this  problem  to  a  finish.  Leave  him  aside;  we  deal 
now  with  De  Castra." 

"I  see  one  big  difficulty — "  began  Philip. 

"Sure!"  interrupted  Mervyn,  "for  if  the  creature 
were  to  hold  out  and  deny  his  own  identity,  it  would 
cause  endless  difficulty  and  bother.  Also,  there  is 
the  chance  he  might  give  us  the  slip  altogether.  As 
he  has  failed  with  the  De  Castras,  however,  his 
next  move " 

There  was  a  faint  single  rap  at  the  front  door 
knocker.  The  two  men  looked  at  each  other 
quickly. 

"Rather  curious,"  suggested  Philip  gently. 
"What  visitor  would  one  expect  at  this  hour  of  the 
night?" 

"It  would  not  surprise  me  in  the  least,"  said  Mer- 
vyn under  his  breath,  "if  that's  the  man  himself. 


398    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

These  gentry  never  waste  time  when  they're  on  a 
dangerous  job."  His  eyes  flashed.  "If  so,  we've 
got  him !  Bring  him  into  that  back  study  of  yours, 
Mottisfont." 

Mervyn  slipped  noiselessly  out  of  the  room.  For 
a  few  moments  Philip  stood  with  knitted  brows, 
thinking.  Passing  through  the  hall  he  glanced  at  the 
study,  and  saw  it  was  in  darkness.  He  opened  the 
front  door  and  encountered  a  dark,  wizened  person, 
with  remarkably  small  eyes. 

"Who  are  you?"  said  Mottisfont  curtly,  "and 
what  do  you  want?" 

"What  I  want-a?  A  word  with  the  Sefior,"  the 
visitor  replied  with  an  ingratiating  wriggle,  "which 
will  be  ver'  much  to  his  advantage.  My  news,"  he 
added,  "comes  from  Florida.  The  Sefior  speak 
Spanish?" 

"No." 

' '  It  make  no  matter.  I  spik-a  the  English  pretty 
well.  I  can  make  myself  understood.  Shall  we  talk 
alone,  Sefior?" 

Mottisfont  let  the  man  in,  and  taking  him  to  the 
study,  turned  the  light  on.  Pedro  De  Castra  looked 
round  him  furtively,  closed  the  door  and  bowed  to 
Philip  with  a  leer  and  a  smirk. 

"I  wish-a  to  congratulate  the  Sefior  Mottisfont," 
he  whispered,  ' '  and  his  so  adorable  wife ! " 

It  is  probable  that  Pedro  De  Castra  did  not  realize 
how  near  he  was  at  that  moment  to  having  his  head 
bumped  crudely  against  the  wall.  The  man  inspired 
Philip  with  such  repulsion  that  he  could  scarcely 
bring  himself  to  speak. 


TRAPPED  399 

"State  your  business  briefly,"  he  said.  "What  is 
your  name?" 

"Don  Diego  Silvas,  a  humble  gentleman  of 
Florida." 

"Your  real  name,  I  mean?" 

"The  Senor  is-a  please  to  be  facetious,"  smiled  De 
Castra.  "I  am  what  I  have  said.  I  am  like  the 
Senor,  an  honest  man.  I  like-a  to  do  right.  But  I 
cannot  afford  to  do  right  for  nothing.  There,  you 
see,  I  am  all-same  as  a  lawyer." 

He  paused  to  observe  the  effect  of  his  words.  But 
there  was  nothing  to  be  learned  from  Philip's  face. 

"There  is  an  English  lady,"  said  De  Castra,  "who 
did  have  a  title  and  a  great  wealth.  Oh,  a  ver'  great 
deal  of  money."  He  licked  his  lips  and  wriggled. 
"And  she  have  them  taken  away  from  her.  Senor, 
they  were  taken  away  wrong!  She  would  still  be 
the  Lady  Tallbois  of  Knayth.  Ah !  I  astonish  the 
Senor,  is  it  not?" 

He  shifted  his  chair  a  little  closer,  and  breathed 
hard. 

"But  there  is  only  one  man  in  the  world-a,  that 
can  prove  it.  And,  without  this  man,  nothing  can  he 
do  himself.  Senor,  what  if  I  find  you  this  man?" 

He  leaned  forward  impressively. 

"Senor,"  he  said,  "if  I  can  prove  that  your  wife, 
the  Senora  Mottisfont,  is  of  right  Lady  Tallbois,  tell 
me,  is  not  that  worth  a  price?" 

"Yes,"  said  Philip,  "it  is." 

"Bueno,  of  course,  it  is!  And  I  can  do  it.  I  will 
prove  to  you  that  I  speak-a  truth,  and  then  I  shall 
want  ten  thousand  pounds  English .  After  that ' ' 


400    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

"Ah,  modest  as  well  as  honest,"  interrupted  Philip. 
"Your  faith  in  human  nature  puts  me,  a  cynical 
K.C.,  to  shame." 

"Ah,  you  do  not  believe  me!"  said  Pedro  eagerly, 
and  a  trifle  anxiously.  "See,  I  will  tell  you  a  little 
secret  that  will-a  convince  you.  It  is  a  safe  secret, 
for  without  my  proofs  you  can  never  do  at  all.  There 
is  at  Knayth  a  girl  who  is  call  the  Lady  Tallbois,  and 
her  mother,  the  Sefiora."  He  tapped  the  table  with 
his  dusky  finger-nails.  "The  girl  is  no  more  the 
Lady  Tallbois  than  I  am.  For  her  mother's  marriage 
with  the  Englishman,  Tallbois,  was  no  marriage  at 
all!  The  woman  she  have  a  husband  living  when 
she  marry  Tallbois,  and  the  girl  is  nothing  at  all! 
And  if  I  get  money  enough  I  can  prove  it  in  one 
day!" 

Philip  felt  his  flesh  crawl  as  he  looked  at  the  man. 

"The  woman  had  a  husband  living — and  he  is 
alive  now!"  said  De  Castra  huskily.  "I  can  turn 
her  and  the  girl  out.  Sefior,  what  will  you  give  me 
if  I  make  that  your  wife  is  the  Lady  Tallbois?  What 
price,  that  I  give  her  her  rights? " 

"You  yellow  mongrel,"  said  Philip  quietly,  "if 
you  take  my  wife's  name  on  your  lips  again,  I  will 
clean  the  floor  of  this  room  with  your  body,  and  then 
tread  on  you.  Can  you  understand  that?" 

De  Castra  cringed  and  turned  a  slightly  paler 
shade  of  yellow.  He  waved  two  hands  apologetically 
and  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

4 '  As  the  Sefior  pleases.  And  yet, ' '  he  added  with  a 
snakish  wriggle,  "it  is  a  pity  to  threaten.  Listen, 
then,  Sefior.  Say  that  the  first,  the  real,  husband  of 


TRAPPED  401 

the  Senora  Mercedes  is  alive.     Say  that  I  know  him, 
and  can  find  him.     Will  you  give  me  now " 

"Enough  of  this  childish  lying!"  said  Philip  sud- 
denly. "You  are  Pedro  De  Castra.  You  have 
already  been  to  your  wife  and  daughter  and  have 
attempted  to  blackmail  them;  your  attempt  has 
failed,  and  therefore  you  come  to  me.  It  is  quite 
comprehensible  that  the  so-called  Lady  Tallbois  has 
lately  found  her  position  so  dangerous  that  she 
would  rather  lose  it  than  be  bled  by  such  a  cur  as  you. 
She  is  to  be  congratulated  on  her  good  sense.  Or  it 
may  even  be  that  there  is  a  gleam  of  honesty  in  her — 
or  in  her  mother.  For  the  girl  at  least  has  courage." 

Pedro  huddled  in  his  chair,  and  glared  sullenly  at 
Philip. 

' '  All  this  may  be  true, ' '  he  sneered, ' '  yet  no  one  can 
prove  the  truth  or  prove  my  identity,  but  me  only ! 
It  cannot  be  done  in  spite  of  me.  You  know  that,  too ! ' ' 

He  got  up,  and  leaned  his  hands  on  the  table. 

"Will  you  deal  with  me,"  he  said,  "if  I  tell  you — 
here  to  your  face,  that  I  am  De  Castra!" 

"If  you  tell  me  that,"  said  Philip  drily,  "I  will- 
deal  with  you." 

"Ver'  good,"  said  the  Floridian  savagely.  "Then 
I  will  tell  you!  You  think  you  can  play  with  me. 
You  mean  two  things,  but  I  mean  only  one  thing! 
I  am  Pedro  De  Castra  of  Santa  Inez,  husband  of  the 
woman  who  calls  herself  Mercedes  Tallbois!" 

He  grinned  malevolently  at  Philip. 

"I  tell-a  you  the  truth.     But  if  I  choose  to  deny  it 
— to  keep  back  the  proofs  and  say  it  was  a  lie — not 
you  nor  a  hundred  lawyers  can  show  who  I  am." 
26 


402    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

"Not  another  word,"  said  Mervyn,  thrusting  back 
the  cupboard  door  with  his  knee,  and  stepping  out, 
"is  necessary.  It  would  be  a  pity  to  overdo  it." 

Brancepeth,  at  the  same  moment,  parted  the 
window-curtain  and  emerged. 

With  a  squeal  of  amazement  and  rage,  De  Castra 
sprang  back  and  his  hand  whipped  behind  his  coat. 
The  burly  Brancepeth  had  him  pinioned  like  a  flash. 
There  was  a  twist  and  a  yell.  A  knife  fell  on  the 
carpet. 

"Decorate  the  gentleman,  Brancepeth,"  said 
Mervyn  serenely.  Before  the  words  were  out  of  his 
mouth  there  was  a  double  click  and  a  pair  of  hand- 
cuffs fastened  themselves  on  De  Castra's  wrists. 

"What  for  you  do  this?  You  have  no  right!"  he 
screamed.  "I  have-a  done  nothing!" 

"No;  not  even  Mr.  Mottisfont,"  said  Mervyn. 
' '  It  would  take  a  much  sharper  rogue  than  you,  De 
Castra,  to  blackmail  our  star  K.C.  But  one  or  two 
little  things  in  Florida,  I  fancy,  stand  to  your 
credit." 

"They  do  not  count!"  said  Pedro,  and  he  glared 
venomously  at  Philip.  "You  gain  nothing  by  this, 
you !  I  tell  you  now,  that  all  I  said  was  a  lie ! " 

"Then  I  fear,  Mr.  De  Castra,  that  you  have 
attempted  to  obtain  money  by  false  pretences!" 
said  Mervyn  winningly. 

"I  tell  you " 

"Take  him  away,  Brancepeth,"  concluded  Mer- 
vyn, and  De  Castra  was  led  out,  whimpering  and 
whining.  As  soon  as  he  was  gone  Philip  flung  up  the 
window  as  wide  as  it  would  go. 


TRAPPED  403 

"Phew!"  he  muttered.  "Let  us  go  somewhere 
where  it's  clean.  Come  in  the  other  room,  Mervyn ! ' ' 

They  made  for  the  front  room. 

"We  have  got  our  man,  and  we  have  got  his 
admission,  which  saves  much  trouble,"  said  Mervyn. 
"The  rest  is  easy.  There  is  enough  to  hold  him 
on,  and  even  if  the  United  States  police  do  not  want 
him,  that  doesn't  matter.  While  he  is  in  custody, 
this  paper" — he  held  up  the  note  that  Philip  had 
given  him  twenty  minutes  before — "will  enable  us 
to  identify  him  legally  and  trace  him  right  back  to 
his  beginnings." 

"I  foresee  no  difficulty  whatever,"  said  Philip. 
"This  last  stroke  clears  the  way." 

Mervyn  held  out  his  hand. 

"I  congratulate  you,  Mottisfont,  from  the  bottom 
of  my  heart.  If  any  one  ever  deserved  to  come  into 
their  rights  it  is  your  wife — and  you.  And  now,"  he 
said  quietly,  "I  must  go,  for  I  have  a  harder  duty 
to  perform — a  bigger  quarry  to  bring  down  than  this 
half-bred  jackal." 

"I  would  remind  you,"  said  Philip,  who  looked 
troubled,  ' '  that  Callaghan ' ' 

"When  I  have  found  William  Tallbois  I  shall  have 
found  Callaghan,"  said  Mervyn  quietly;  "the  two 
hang  together.  I  know  rather  more  than  I  have 
chosen  to  tell  you,  Mottisfont.  I  even  know  that 
Tallbois  has  been  with  you  this  very  day,  and  though 
he  has  given  me  the  slip  for  the  moment,  I  shall  find 
him;  and  I  must  do  so." 

He  sighed. 

"It  is  a  pity,"  he  concluded,  "as  I  said  before — for 


404    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

your  wife's  sake.  But  we  cannot  juggle  with  justice 
in  this  country.  I  must  do  my  duty." 

"And  if  you  fail — what  then?" 

"Ah,  then,"  replied  Mervyn,  "it  is  another  matter. 
But  I  cannot  hold  out  much  hope  to  you  that  I  shall 
fail.  I  have  done  all  I  can  for  you.  Good  night, 
Mottisfont!" 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

THE  HUT  ON  THE  MARSHES 

A  DAMP  wind  blew  from  the  distant  river,  bearing 
before  it  the  brackish,  heavy  smell  peculiar  to  the 
Lower  Thames.  The  rushes  in  the  dykes  whispered 
hoarsely,  and  it  was  very  dark.  So  dark  that  the 
outlines  of  an  old  hut  on  Plumstead  Marshes  were 
no  more  than  a  blur  in  the  encircling  gloom. 

It  would  have  needed  an  eye  thoroughly  focussed 
to  the  darkness  to  distinguish  among  the  stunted 
thorn  bushes  close  to  the  hut  three  still  dimmer 
figures.  But  they  were  there,  and  from  one  of  them 
proceeded  a  voice. 

"Drummond,"  it  said,  "has  not  arrived." 

"There  is  no  sign  of  him,  Chief,"  replied  gloomily 
the  voice  of  Vaille.  "And  I  doubt  if  he  will  come." 

The  only  acknowledgment  from  the  third  and 
bulkiest  of  the  three  figures  was  a  sigh  and  a  long 
shiver.  Mr.  Theophilus  Bell  was  feeling  chilly  both 
in  body  and  in  spirit. 

' '  How  long  are  we  to  wait  ? "  said  Vaille  impatiently. 

"Not  one  second,"  answered  Callaghan  coolly; 
"we  are  not  waiting  for  Drummond,  but  for  the  tide. 
It  will  turn  in  forty  minutes,  and  that  forty  minutes, 
gentlemen,  will  be  our  last  on  English  soil." 

405 


406   THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

"If  you  can  call  these  unchristian  marshes  soil  at 
all,"  commented  Bell,  his  teeth  chattering. 

"I  have  certainly  known  more  hilarious  spots  than 
this,"  agreed  Callaghan,  "but  you  will  agree  it  is 
preferable  to  the  cells  at  Bow  Street.  But  for  me, 
that  would  be  your  lodging. 

"Gentlemen,"  continued  Callaghan  moodily,  "I 
confess  defeat,  but  not  entire  failure.  We  were  play- 
ing for  great  stakes,  and  I  long  ago  foresaw  that  a 
flight  from  Egypt  might  become  necessary  when  the 
prize  was  realized.  It  has  eluded  us,  yet  we  do  not 
go  quite  empty-handed.  There  is  the  ten  thousand 
from  Joan  Mottisfont,  and  a  lesser  dividend  from  her 
successor.  It  is  nothing  at  all  to  what  I  hoped  to 
gain. 

' '  I  underrated  Mottisfont.  Aided  largely  by  luck, 
he  was  able  to  set  the  law  on  our  trail  in  a  way  no  man 
has  yet  done,  and  complete  disaster  threatened.  And 
I  own  frankly  that,  now  the  game  is  ended,  I  fear  Jim 
Carey  more  than  I  fear  Scotland  Yard.  He  has  now 
nothing  to  lose. 

"As  for  the  police,  I  have  kept  you  and  myself  in 
very  efficient  hiding  since  the  danger  became  acute. 
Tonight  I  have  brought  you  here  that  we  may  follow 
the  line  of  retreat  I  have  always  held  in  reserve.  I 
take  no  man  into  my  confidence  till  it  is  necessary, 
but  the  arrangements  are  complete,  and  I  will  give 
you  the  route. 

"Yonder  in  the  river,  below  the  lime-kiln  wharf,  lies 
the  coasting  brigantine  Mine  and  Thine,  of  Rochester 
— a  name  of  happy  augury.  She  and  her  personnel 
are  under  my  direction.  That  old  ship  is  safer  for 


THE  HUT  ON  THE  MARSHES         407 

our  purpose  than  any  steam  vessel.  For  her  comings 
and  goings  are  obscure  and  of  interest  to  nobody. 
No  thief-hunter  would  suspect  her.  By  daybreak 
we  shall  be  abreast  the  Maplins,  and  noon  will  find 
us  off  the  Galloper  Light.  Eventually  we  shall 
vanish  as  completely  as  the  Mine  and  Thine  herself. 
And  as  to  our  movements  beyond  that  point  I  will 
enlighten  you  later.  Our  safety,  my  friends,  is 
assured." 

"Good  enough,"  said  Vaille,  "simple  and  effective. 
Why  not  go  abroad  at  once,  Chief?" 

"We  cannot  sail  till  the  ebb  begins,  for  the  wind  is 
against  us.  To  eliminate  the  smallest  risk,  I  do  not 
propose  to  board  and  wait  on  an  anchored  ship,  but 
to  join  her  as  she  is  on  the  point  of  starting.  The 
boat  will  come  to  the  stage  for  us  at  ten-thirty." 

' '  But  Drummond ' ' 

"Drummond,"  said  Callaghan  harshly,  "has  cer- 
tainly had  my  message  bidding  him  attend  this 
rendezvous,  and  if  he  is  such  a  fool  as  to  ensure  his 
own  destruction  by  staying  behind,  let  him.  His 
hopes  of  Knayth  are  at  an  end.  It  is  true  that 
Scotland  Yard  has  no  evidence  connecting  him  with 
us,  and  apparently  they  are  not  after  him.  But  that 
is  a  slender  reed  to  rely  on." 

"Although  Callaghan  stock  is  somewhat  flat  on  the 
market  just  now,"  said  Vaille,  "I  have  always  found 
it  safest  in  the  long  run,  Chief,  to  do  as  you  suggest. 
And  doubtless  Drummond  will  find  the  same.  There 
is  still  time " 

He  broke  off  suddenly.  His  quick  ear  caught  a 
rustle  farther  up  the  hedge. 


408    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

The  three  men  crouched,  scarcely  breathing. 
Callaghan's  hand  stole  quietly  to  his  hip  pocket. 
Someone  was  certainly  approaching.  A  vague  form 
became  visible,  it  halted,  and  a  strained  voice 
whispered. 

' '  Callaghan.     Is  that  you  ? " 

"Ah,  my  young  friend,"  said  the  Chief  blandly,  "I 
perceive  you  are  not  quite  yourself,  or  you  would  not 
utter  improper  names  in  that  reckless  fashion.  Wel- 
come. I  began  to  think  you  were  not  coming." 

"I  wish  I  had  not  come!"  said  Drummond's  voice 
thickly.  ' '  I  wish  I  had  stayed  and  taken  my  chance. 
It  would  be  no  worse  than  returning  to  you  cursed 
thieves!  I  think  I  shall  go  back !" 

"Your  place  with  us  is  waiting  for  you,"  said 
Callaghan  calmly.  "And,  as  we  have  still  half  an 
hour,  and  our  distinguished  company  is  now  com- 
plete, we'll  go  into  the  rendezvous  and  so  avoid  any 
chance  callers.  This  way." 

He  unlatched  and  opened  the  door  of  the  old  hut, 
groped  his  way  inside,  and  the  others  followed  him. 

"Sit  on  the  floor,"  said  Callaghan,  "it  is  strewn 
with  dry  rushes,  and  is  better  than  the  marshy  turf 
outside.  We  have  a  little  settlement  to  make,  for 
which  this  is  just  the  place.  Pull  that  door  to, 
Bell." 

"Can't  we  have  a  light?"  shivered  Bell.  "It's 
safe  enough  in  here." 

"By  no  means.  Too  many  chinks  in  the  wood- 
work. Don't  be  a  fool,  Bell.  And  now,  Drummond, 
what  did  you  mean  by  what  you  said  a  moment 
ago?"  Callaghan's  voice  was  dangerously  silky. 


THE  HUT  ON  THE  MARSHES         409 

"Have  you  encountered  any  undesirable  person  on 
your  way  here?" 

"No!"  replied  Drummond  bitterly,  "and  I  mean 
just  what  I  said !  The  thought  of  going  abroad  with 
you,  Callaghan,  attracts  me  little  more  than  Dart- 
moor Prison  does.  You  dress  your  blackguardism  in 
purple  and  fine  linen,  but  I'm  sick  of  blackguardism, 
and  I  'm  sick  of  you !  Do  you  hear,  you  beast  ? ' '  His 
voice  came  hysterically  from  the  darkness  of  the  hut. 
"I  don't  want  your  loot.  I'll  have  no  further  hand 
in  robbing  women.  I — I  don't  know  why  I  came 
here!"  he  ended  with  a  sob. 

"You  came,"  answered  Callaghan,  quite  unruffled, 
"because  you  dared  not  stay  away.  The  game  is  up ; 
it  is  quite  certain  that  the  unspeakable  Jim  Carey 
will  give  you  away  with  the  rest  of  us,  if  he  has  not 
done  it  already,  and  you  are  the  easiest  to  lay  hands 
on.  Neither  England,  home,  nor  beauty  have  any 
further  use  for  you ;  and  in  spite  of  all  these  vapour- 
ings,  you  have  not  the  courage  to  face  the  criminal 
dock,  and  would  be  a  fool  if  you  did.  I  am  saving 
you  from  Carey  in  spite  of  yourself,  so  be  good  enough 
to  stop  drivelling  and  attend  to  business." 

"I  would  sooner  be  at  Carey's  mercy  than  yours, 
I  think, ' '  muttered  Drummond.  ' '  I  want  to  be  done 
with  it  all!" 

"You  will  think  better  of  that  when  you  are  on  salt 
water  and  under  my  genial  influence,"  replied  Cal- 
laghan with  the  same  deadly  placidity.  "This 
yearning  after  a  new  life,  and  all  the  rest  of  the 
nonsense,  arrives  rather  late.  It  is  out  of  your 
reach.  I  attribute  it  to  the  influence  of  the 


410    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

delightful  Agnes — the  very  last  source  I  should  have 
ever  suspected  such  an  idea  to  arise  from."  He 
chuckled  faintly.  "Well,  which  of  us  will  ever 
understand  women  ?  I  have  felt  you  growing  shaky 
for  some  time,  Drummond,  and  I  have  not  the  least 
intention  of  leaving  you  behind,  for  you  are  the  only 
person  who  might  have  the  power  to  trace  me  after 
I  am  gone. 

"Enough!"  he  added  with  a  sudden  viciousness. 
' '  You  will  sail  with  us.  I  wish  to  hear  no  more  from 
you.  Vaille,  Bell,  I  address  myself  to  you  both.  It 
is  hard  to  leave  the  field  of  our  activities  like  this; 
to  feel  that  we  have  been  only  partially  successful. 
Yet  though  I  may  be  thousands  of  miles  away,  cut  off 
from  all  direction  and  influence,  and  even  from  all 
profits,  still  the  women  of  the  house  of  Tallbois 
may  find  that  they  have  not  done  with  me.  Though 
another  hunter  may  profit  by  the  kill,  the  deer  was  of 
my  starting,"  he  added  bitterly,  "and  I  shall  be  glad 
to  know  it  has  been  pulled  down. 

"As  for  Slim  Jim  Carey,  though  he  may  have 
spoiled  the  hunting,  we  leave  him  to  pay  the  piice. 
Before  us  lies  freedom,  but  I  have  caused  all  the  facts 
about  him  to  be  delivered  into  the  hands  of  the 
authorities,  and  they  dare  not  fail  to  act  upon  it.  It 
should  also  mean  the  breaking  of  Mottisfont,"  said 
Callaghan  savagely,  "for  he  has  certainly  had  deal- 
ings with  Carey,  and  the  two  will  fall  together. 
Gentlemen,  the  account  is  paid  in  full." 

"And  the  receipt,"  said  a  voice  serenely,  "is 
ready,  and  awaits  stamping." 

A  terrified  gasp  came  from  Vaille,  and  Callaghan 


THE  HUT  ON  THE  MARSHES         411 

started  violently.  A  sudden  ray  of  light  dazzled 
them,  sprouting  from  a  little  electric  case-lamp  that 
hung  from  a  hook  on  the  wall. 

It  lit  up  the  hut,  illuminating  the  four  figures  that 
sprawled  on  the  rush-strewn  floor.  In  the  corner, 
close  to  the  lamp,  a  long,  lean  man  with  brooding  eyes 
was  sitting  on  a  bench,  one  knee  crossed  easily  over 
the  other;  on  his  lips  played  a  faintly  mocking  smile. 
Beside  him  was  a  small  black  case.  One  slim  hand 
rested  nonchalantly  on  this,  the  two  first  fingers 
touching  a  metal  terminal. 

In  a  moment  Callaghan's  pistol  was  out.  Lord 
Tallbois  laughed. 

"I  have  been  so  interested,  Callaghan,  in  your  ad- 
dress to  the  faithful,"  he  said,  "that  I  was  reluctant 
to  interrupt  you.  Shoot,  Callaghan ;  press  the  trigger 
by  all  means.  It  is  simplest  for  us  all,  and  it  will  not 
affect  the  result.  A  bullet  cannot  prevent  it,  but 
will  rather  hasten  the  slight  pressure  of  my  finger, 
which  is  all  that  we  require." 

Callaghan  was  on  the  point  of  firing,  but  for  the 
moment  his  eye  strayed  to  the  black  box,  and  in- 
stantly the  meaning  of  it  flashed  into  his  brain.  He 
turned  paler,  but  still  kept  the  pistol  aligned  at 
Tallbois'  breast. 

"You  are  acquainted  with  the  properties  of  ful- 
minate of  mercury?"  said  Lord  Tallbois  almost 
amiably.  "You  appreciate,  I  see,  this  little  toy  I 
have  brought  with  me.  When  it  detonates  there  will 
be  nothing  humanly  recognizable  left  on  the  site  of 
this  hut — an  added  advantage.  Shall  I  press  the 
button  now,  or  will  you  hear  what  I  have  to  say?" 


412    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

Bell  was  crouching  and  whimpering;  Drummond 
sat  rigid.  From  Vaille  came  a  frenzied  outburst. 

' '  Fire,  Callaghan ! "  he  cried  thickly.  ' '  Fire,  I  tell 
you,  and  take  the  chance.  It's  the  only  way.  He's 
playing  with  us — there's  death  in  his  eyes!" 

"Well  done,  Vaille,"  said  Tallbois,  quietly,  "you 
were  never  a  coward.  Your  perceptions  are  sound, 
though  your  delivery  a  little  too  dramatic  to  please 
the  fastidious.  Your  'Chief,'  you  see,  is  still  trying 
to  make  up  his  mind.  Callaghan,  do  you  wish  to 
hear  my  ultimatum?" 

Swift  resolve  flashed  into  Callaghan's  eyes — again 
he  seemed  about  to  fire;  but  he  hesitated,  and  the 
pistol  wavered.  Suddenly  he  lowered  it. 

"Your  ultimatum!"  he  said  hoarsely.  "What  do 
you  mean  by  that?  You're  not  bluffing — you  can 
blow  us  all  to  the  devil  if  you  wish,  I  suppose  ?  Take 
your  hand  off  that  cursed  thing  and  let  us  talk. 
What  is  it  you  want?" 

"A  settlement,"  replied  Lord  Tallbois.  His  hand 
remained  on  the  box. 

"What  settlement?"  said  Callaghan  eagerly, 
watching  the  speaker's  hand.  "Do  you,"  he  said, 
licking  his  dry  lips,  "want  a  share  in  the  loot?  Or  a 
passage  out — to  safety?" 

There  was  a  gleam  of  ineffable  contempt  in  Tall- 
bois' eyes. 

"A  passage  out,"  he  answered,  "for  us  all.  But  a 
longer  journey,  Callaghan,  than  you  have  in  mind. 
It  is  clear  to  me  that  you  and  your  partners  have 
cumbered  the  ground  too  long.  You  may  have 
beaten  the  police;  you  have  not  beaten  me.  It  is 


THE  HUT  ON  THE  MARSHES         413 

not  well  that  you  should  continue  in  the  flesh  to  rob, 
and  plan,  and  torture  the  innocent. 

"I  include  myself,"  he  added  quietly,  "in  this 
verdict.  There  is  no  place  for  me  in  the  world  of  men. 
Legally  dead,  it  is  better  that  I  should  be  dead  in 
fact.  A  hundred  times  better  for  the  one  living 
creature  whose  welfare  I  have  at  heart,  and  against 
whom  you  have  offended  beyond  all  hope  of  appeal. 
With  open  eyes  you  transgressed  my  warning." 

Callaghan  made  no  answer.  There  was  a  little 
whimpering  sigh  from  Bell. 

"I  perceive  that  you  recognize  this  fully,  Cal- 
laghan," continued  Lord  Tallbois,  pitilessly.  "You 
are  under  no  illusions.  Yet  at  this  moment  your 
ingenious  brain  is  working — with  the  energy  of  des- 
pair. You  watch,  Callaghan,  you  hope,  you  seek  for 
a  way  out.  Do  you  see  any  way,  Callaghan?  I 
confess  that  I  can  see  none." 

Before  Callaghan  could  reply  Lord  Tallbois  spoke 
again,  a  little  more  gently. 

"I  make  an  exception,"  he  said,  "in  favour  of  the 
youngest  member  of  the  assembly — Drummond. 
Get  up,  Drummond,  and  go!" 

Drummond  gasped  faintly  and  stared  at  him  with 
dilated  eyes,  wondering  if  he  were  being  mocked. 

"You  will  be  reasonably  safe,"  said  Lord  Tallbois, 
not  looking  at  him,  but  keeping  his  gaze  fixed  on 
Callaghan.  "Your  'Chief  is  wrong  in  declaring  I 
have  given  away  your  secret — and  I  am  going  to 
ensure  that  he  does  not  betray  it  either.  I  have  never 
descended  to  the  level  of  a  police  spy.  Your  past 
connection  with  this  company  is  wiped  out.  You 


4H  THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

are  young;  a  spark  of  decency  lies  hidden  in  you 
somewhere — and  there  is  a  woman  waiting  for  you. 
Go,  Drummond,  and  see  what  you  can  make  of  that 
new  life  for  which  I  heard  you  express  a  desire." 

"Do  you  mean  it,  Tallbois?"  gasped  Drummond, 
trembling. 

"Go,  you  fool!"  said  Lord  Tallbois,  harshly, 
"before  it  is  too  late!" 

Drummond  staggered  out  through  the  hut  door. 
None  of  the  others  dared  to  move.  The  young  man 
looked  round  him  dazedly;  the  wind  of  the  marshes 
blew  cold  upon  his  face.  And  then  he  turned  and  ran. 

Whither  he  was  running  Drummond  did  not  know 
or  care.  A  black  horror  of  what  that  hut  contained 
was  upon  him.  Sobbing  and  stumbling,  he  fled  as 
though  death  were  at  his  heels;  once  he  fell  headlong 
into  a  marsh  ditch,  dragged  himself  up,  and  ran  on 
again,  drenched  and  covered  with  mire. 

Somewhere  behind  he  heard  the  faint  crack  of  a 
pistol,  drowned  instantly  by  a  shattering  roar;  the 
darkness  was  split  asunder  by  a  flash  that  lit  the 
marshes  far  and  wide;  an  invisible  force  seemed  to 
strike  Drummond  between  the  shoulders,  and  im- 
pelled him  bodily  into  a  thorn  bush. 

For  a  while  he  lay  there,  panting  and  dazed.  He 
raised  himself  and  looked  up.  The  echoes  of  the 
explosion  were  still  rumbling  over  the  still  river. 
Where  the  hut  had  been  a  little  ring  of  whitish  smoke, 
like  a  funeral  wreath,  rose  towards  the  stars. 

Drummond  staggered  to  his  feet  and  continued 
his  flight. 


THE  HUT  ON  THE  MARSHES         415 

It  was  late  on  the  following  day  when  Philip 
Mottisfont,  leaving  the  Probate  Court,  encountered 
Commissioner  Mervyn,  looking  very  white  and  tired. 

"It  will  interest  you  to  hear,  Mottisfont,"  said 
Mervyn  quietly,  "that  I  have  failed!" 

4 '  Failed ! ' '  exclaimed  Philip.  ' '  Come  across  to  my 
chambers,"  he  said  quickly,  "and  tell  me  all  about  it." 

Mervyn  shook  his  head. 

"No  time.  There  are  many  things  I  must  do." 
He  stepped  into  the  empty  ante-room  of  the  court, 
however,  and  beckoned  Philip  after  him.  "I  have 
other  news  for  you,  which  is  also  particularly  good. 
I  find  there  will  be  no  difficulty  whatever  in  proving 
Pedro  De  Castra's  identity  up  to  the  hilt,  and  it  will 
be  quite  futile  for  him  to  try  to  conceal  it.  We  can 
trace  him  now,  back  to  his  beginnings." 

"And  can  you  hold  him?"  said  Philip. 

' '  Certainly.  We  are  communicating  with  the  United 
States  police,  and  in  due  course  he  will  be  extradited ; 
there  are  charges  against  him  there,  and  it  probably 
means  a  few  years'  gaol  for  him.  Come  to  me  in 
two  days'  time,  and  I  can  put  evidence  in  your  hands 
that  will  give  the  full  history  of  Pedro  De  Castra. 
Your  wife  is  the  only  and  legitimate  daughter  of  the 
late  William  Tallbois,  and  the  peerage  is  hers.  You 
can  establish  it  in  the  courts.  And  I  congratulate 
you  and  your  wife." 

"Again  you  are  a  good  friend  to  me,  Mervyn," 
said  Philip,  taking  his  outstretched  hand.  "But  you 
said— the  late  William  Tallbois ?" 

"Who  died  two  years  ago  in  France,"  said  Mervyn 
very  quietly. 


416    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  Mottisfont's  eyes 
searched  his  friend's  face. 

"You  mean  more  than  you  have  told  me,"  said 
Philip.  "Mervyn,  do  not  leave  me  in  the  dark. 
When  I  saw  you  last  you  were  in  search  of " 

' '  Callaghan-Vaille-Bell — well-known  malefactors, 
wanted  by  the  police,"  put  in  Mervyn. 

"And ?" 

"John  Goodenough,  footman,  late  of  Knayth." 

"You  tell  me  you  have  failed,  Mervyn.  What  do 
you  mean  by  that?" 

"You  really  wish  to  know?"  said  Mervyn  slowly. 
"You  will  not  leave  things  where  they  are?" 

"I  must  know,"  said  Philip  under  his  breath;  "I 
must  know  what  has  become  of  John  Goodenough." 

Mervyn  closed  the  door. 

"Leaving  details  aside  then,"  he  said,  "the  facts 
are  these.  Acting  on  information  received,  I  dis- 
covered, at  the  eleventh  hour,  the  hiding-place  in 
London  of  Callaghan  and  his  two  confederates.  I 
just  missed  apprehending  them;  when  I  arrived  the 
birds  had  flown.  A  little  earlier  Brancepeth  got  on 
the  track  of  John  Goodenough,  traced  him  to  Plum- 
stead,  and  for  an  hour  lost  sight  of  him.  Brancepeth 
wired  to  me.  I  did  not  blame  him.  I  know  his 
difficulties.  I  followed  instantly  in  a  car.  At  ten- 
twenty,  while  I  was  still  a  mile  from  Plumstead, 
there  was  a  heavy  explosion  in  the  distance.  I  joined 
Brancepeth,  and  we  found  that  a  hut  on  the  marshes 
had  been  blown  into  matchwood  and  splinters." 

Mervyn  laid  a  ringer  on  Philip's  arm. 

"Four  men  died  in  that  explosion,"  he  said  quietly. 


THE  HUT  ON  THE  MARSHES         417 

"Four?"  repeated  Philip,  a  little  hoarsely. 

"Four." 

"Are  they  identified?" 

Mervyn  looked  away. 

"There  is,"  he  said  after  a  pause,  "really  nothing 
to  identify." 

Philip,  very  pale,  made  no  answer.  The  parting 
words  of  his  guest  on  the  previous  night  came  back 
to  him. 

"Mottisfont,"  said  Mervyn  gravely,  "knowing 
what  you  know — remembering  what  you  told  me 
two  nights  ago — can  you  reconstruct  in  your  mind 
the  scene  that  must  have  taken  place  in  that  hut?" 

"I  can,"  said  Philip  under  his  breath.  "I  see  it 
very  clearly." 

"The  meeting — the  conflict — the  finish?" 

"Surely.    I  can  see  the  thing  that  happened." 

"And  so  can  I." 

"Can  you  prove  it?' 

"Officially,"  said  Mervyn,  "I  can  prove  absolutely 
nothing.  The  evidence  is  simply  wiped  off  the  face 
of  the  earth.  And,"  he  added  slowly,  "I  am  glad 
of  it." 

"Glad?"  said  Philip.  "I  thank  Heaven  for  it! 
There  has  been  unhappiness  enough.  The  dead  have 
had  their  share  of  it.  Let  us  not  inflict  it  on  the 
living." 

"You  need  have  no  fear,  Mottisfont.  Speaking 
again  unofficially,  Scotland  Yard  does  not  advertise 
its  failures,  especially  when  no  jot  of  proof  exists." 

"Callaghan,  Vaille,  Bell,"  murmured  Philip,  "were 
three.  I  am  thinking  of  that  fourth  man." 


418    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

"Speaking  very  unofficially,"  said  Mervyn,  "I 
think,  on  the  whole,  he  died  not  unworthily." 

"Requiescat,"  said  Philip,  lifting  his  hat. 

"Amen  to  that!"  replied  Mervyn  gravely,  and 
left  the  building. 


Philip  arrived  at  the  little  house  in  Highgate.  He 
let  himself  in  quietly,  and  found  Joan  in  the  sitting- 
room. 

"Philip!"  she  said,  startled,  "what  is  the  matter? 
How  white  and  serious  you  look!" 

"  Do  I  ? "  he  answered.  ' '  I  expect  I  do.  And  that 
seems  strange,  too,  for  surely  this  is  one  of  the 
happiest  moments  of  my  life — because  I  am  going  to 
make  you  very  happy,  Joan!" 

"You  have  always  done  that,"  she  said,  and  com- 
ing forward  she  put  her  hands  on  his  shoulders. 
"Philip,  it  isn't  in  your  power,  I  think,  to  make  me 
happier  than  I  am!" 

"I  have  wonderful  news  for  you,"  he  said  quietly. 
"Joan,  your  whole  world  is  reversed  again.  You  are 
Lady  Tallbois  of  Knayth.  And  in  two  months,  or 
less,  you  will  step  into  your  kingdom." 

Joan  stared  at  him,  blankly.  She  began  to  fear 
he  was  ill. 

"Listen,"  he  said,  drawing  her  onto  his  knee,  "and 
I  will  tell  you." 

He  told  her  the  story  of  Pedro  De  Castra,  and  in 
the  simplest  language  made  it  all  perfectly  clear  to 
her.  At  the  end  there  was  a  long  silence.  He  felt 
her  trembling,  and  suddenly  she  rose.  There  was 


THE  HUT  ON  THE  MARSHES         419 

such  joy  shining  in  her  eyes  as  he  had  never  seen 
there  yet.  She  seemed  transformed. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  gently,  "you  need  never  fear  again, 
Joan.  It  is  true.  The  great  inheritance  is  yours. 
Wealth,  title,  position,  they  all  return  to  you." 

Joan  turned  to  him  with  a  swift  movement. 

"Ah!"  she  cried,  almost  fiercely,  "do  you  suppose 
it  is  of  that  I  am  thinking?  Here  is  an  infinitely 
greater  thing  that  lifts  up  my  heart;  that  fills  me 
with  happiness.  My  father — my  father  was  loyal! 
He  never  wronged  the  wife  he  loved.  Those  lies  are 
dead — he  was  loyal  to  my  dear  mother,  and  to  me!" 

Her  voice  broke. 

"My  father!  Philip,  what  would  I  not  give  if  he 
had  lived  to  this  day.  To  see  the  truth  triumph — 
to  take  the  place  that  he  has  left  for  me!" 

Philip  was  silent.  He  could  not  meet  her  eyes. 
Joan  came  to  him  and  took  his  hands. 

"Philip,"  she  said,  scarcely  above  a  whisper,  "a 
feeling  has  been  with  me,  so  strange  and  so  strong — 
through  all  these  months,  that  while  you,  my  darling, 
were  fighting  for  me  and  guiding  me,  there  was  still 
another.  That  my  father's  spirit  was  near  me — 
protecting — guarding — standing  between  me  and 
evil,  with  a  strong  and  unerring  hand,  till  the  victory 
came  and  shame  departed.  And  now — tonight " 

"Tonight?"  repeated  Philip. 

"I  feel,"  said  Joan,  faintly,  "that  it  is  ended,  and 
he  is  with  me  no  more.  That  I  have  lost  him  forever ! ' ' 

She  laid  her  wet  cheek  against  Philip's,  and  the 
joy  came  back  into  her  eyes. 

"Thank  God,  I  have  you,  my  husband!" 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

THE  THREE  DEEDS 

"I  NEVER  wanted  any  of  it,"  groaned  theSenora. 
"I  claimed  it  only  for  you,  Agnes.  And  now  that 
we  have  lost  all,  in  Heaven's  name  tell  me  I  am 
forgiven." 

Agnes  De  Castra  lay  on  the  sofa  in  the  dingy 
hotel  parlour,  her  chin  on  her  hands,  her  eyes,  en- 
circled with  dark  rings,  stared  blankly  at  the  window. 
It  was  the  fifteenth  week  after  the  filing  of  Joan's  claim 
to  Knayth.  For  days  past  London  had  been  ringing 
with  the  sensation  of  Joan  Mottisfont's  triumph. 

"Oh!"  said  Agnes,  wearily,  "cut  the  talk  of  for- 
giveness. You're  my  mother ;  we're  both  in  the  same 
boat.  I  don't  blame  you;  I  guess  I'm  sorry  for  you. 
And  what  am  I?"  she  laughed  bitterly.  "A  beggar, 
a  pauper,  with  a  father  doing  five  years'  gaol  in  the 
States. 

"Don't  ask  me  to  forgive  him!"  she  said,  under 
her  breath.  "He  got  half  his  deserts.  I  wish  I'd 
got  him  that  night.  I'd  ha'  saved  the  American 
Government  some  expense!" 

"Don't,  Agnes!"  gasped  her  mother.  "Cruel  as 
he  was  to  both  of  us,  remember  he  is  not  likely  to 
live  the  five  years,  and  I  dare  not  judge  him.  Let  it 
be  forgotten.  I  know  your  lot  is  harder  than  mine." 

420 


THE  THREE  DEEDS  421 

"No?  "said  Agnes  dully.  "Well,  I'm  just  what  Joan 
Mottisfont  was,  when  I  turned  her  out.  Now  she's 
turned  me  out.  She's — Lady  Tallbois  of  Knayth." 

"Agnes — "  said  her  mother  in  frightened  tones. 

"Oh,  you  needn't  be  scared.  I  guess  there's  no 
kick  left  in  me,"  muttered  Agnes.  "For  a  while  I 
thought  I'd  kill  her.  But  what's  the  use?  The  goods 
are  hers — they  never  were  mine.  They  never  did 
me  any  good.  But  there's  one  thing  I  grudge  her. 
She's  got  the  man  she  loves!" 

Her  voice  broke  in  a  sob. 

"There  was  none  of  the  rest  I'd  a  right  to.  But 
Harold  was  mine.  And — I've  lost  Harold." 

Agnes  buried  her  face  in  her  arms  and  began  to 
cry  piteously.  The  bitter,  vengeful  creature  that  she 
had  been,  seemed  dead.  She  cried  like  a  child  that 
has  hurt  itself — so  miserably  and  helplessly  that  her 
mother,  with  a  little  moan  of  pity,  came  and  knelt 
by  her. 

"Can  you  not  forget  him,  Agnes?" 

"Never,"  she  sobbed.    "Oh,  but  I  love  him!" 

"  It's  the  way  of  the  world,"  said  her  mother  sadly. 
"And  he's  just  a  boy.  I  had  a  liking  for  Harold 
Drummond;  he  was  not  vile  like  those  others.  But 
the  money's  gone,  and  everything's  gone — when  that 
happens  a  man  goes  too.  He  has  kept  away.  Has 
he  said  anything?" 

Agnes  sat  up. 

"He  wrote  me  a  letter,  saying  that  I  was  the  girl 
he  loved" — she  smiled  bitterly — "but  that,  for  my 
sake,  it  was  best  he  shouldn't  come  to  see  me — that 
he  was  in  trouble  an*  had  to  lie  low.  And  that  he 


422    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

supposed  it  was  all  over,  an'  that  of  course  I'd  soon 
forget  him — but  he'd  never  forget  me.  Of  course," 
she  said,  with  a  touch  of  contempt,  "it  was  just  a 
get-away.  Does  he  think  I'm  such  a  fool  as  not  to 
see  through  that?" 

"Tell  me,"  said  her  mother,  "knowing  what  he  is, 
Agnes,  would  you  marry  him  now — if  you  could? 
Doesn't  this  end  it  all?" 

Agnes  drew  her  shoulders  together. 

"  I  would  marry,"  she  said,  "the  man  I  loved,  even 
if  he  was  broke,  or  wicked,  or  hunted.  But  b'gee!" 
she  added,  clenching  her  hands,  "there's  one  thing 
I  could  never  marry — a  coward!" 

She  rose,  and  looked  at  her  mother  oddly. 

"I've  sent  for  him,"  she  said.  "I  know  where  he 
is,  an'  I've  told  him  to  come  here.  And  hell  come!" 

"Here?"  exclaimed  the  Senora  faintly,  "and  at 
your  bidding,  Agnes — after  all  that  has  passed  ?  Why 
should  he?  And  what  is  the  use?" 

"I  bet  he'll  come,"  said  Agnes  rather  grimly. 
"Yes,  he'll  arrive.  An'  I  think  that's  his  step  now. 
I  ought  to  know  it." 

"Agnes,"  said  her  mother,  looking  frightened, 
"you  are  not  going  to " 

"Oh,  no,"  said  the  girl  wearily,  "I'm  not.  I'm 
tame  enough  to  eat  out  of  anybody's  hand — I  ain't 
going  to  break  out;  don't  you  be  scared."  There 
was  a  light  knock  at  the  door.  "  Let  him  in,  mother, 
an'  don't  you  go.  I  guess  I  want  you  here." 

Reluctantly,  for  her  heart  was  fluttering,  the 
Senora  opened  the  door.  Drummond  stood  on  the 
threshold,  hat  in  hand.  He  looked  decidedly  pale 


THE  THREE  DEEDS  423 

and  worn;  his  appearance  was  seedier  than  usual; 
the  spruce  young  dandy  that  he  had  been  was  hardly 
recognizable.  It  must  be  admitted  that  he  cut 
rather  a  poor  figure. 

"Come  in,  Harold,"  said  Agnes  quietly.  "Shut 
the  door." 

Drummond  entered.  He  looked  hesitatingly  at 
the  Senora. 

"Mother's  going  to  stop,"  said  Agnes  with  entire 
decision.  "I  sent  for  you,  Harold.  Got  anything 
to  say?" 

The  young  man  was  dumb. 

"  I  know,"  said  Agnes,  looking  at  him  with  a  long- 
ing in  her  eyes  that  she  could  not  suppress,  "that  I 
ain't  kept  my  side  of  the  bargain,  Harold.  You 
promised  to  many — Lady  Tallbois  of  Knayth.  I 
ain't  that.  I  can't  deliver  the  goods."  She  gulped 
a  little.  " So  it's  all  over— ain't  it? " 

"Agnes,"  he  said  flushing  painfully,  "what  can  I 
say?  You  got  my  letter.  You  know  under  what 
circumstances  I  became  engaged  to  you.  In  pity's 
name,  let  us  say  no  more  of  those  beginnings.  But 
I  loved  you,"  he  said,  looking  straight  at  her,  "and 
I  love  you  now.  Only — I  am  in  worse  circumstances 
than  you,  Agnes.  What  hope  in  the  world  is  there 
for  either  of  us?" 

"That  means  it's  finished,"  said  the  girl  quietly. 

"  I  am  a  fugitive,"  he  said.  "Safe,  perhaps,  for  the 
moment.  But  who  knows  how  long  I  may  even  have 
my  liberty?" 

Agnes  came  a  step  nearer  to  him,  and  her  eyes 
hardened. 


424    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

"I  guess  I'm  the  only  one  who  knows  that!"  she 
answered.  "You're  safe  enough,  except  for  me! 
Any  one  who's  kept  his  ears  open  can  tell  that 
Callaghan  and  the  brutes  that  worked  with  him  are 
finished.  What  about  you?  You've  got  away  with 
it!  Your  tracks  are  covered,  or  the  cops'd  have 
got  you  long  before  this ! " 

"I  have  done  with  all  that  for  ever,"  said  Drum- 
mond,  very  white. 

' '  Yes.  But  a  word  from  me  lands  you  on  the  rocks ! 
There's  no  one  living  but  me  can  put  them  wise. 
Now,"  she  said  fiercely,  "I've  this  to  say  to  you. 
You  know  me  of  old,  Harold;  you  know  what  I  am. 
What  if  I  say  this:  Make  your  word  good  to  me, 
carry  out  your  promise,  or  I'll  say  that  word  before 
you're  an  hour  older?" 

There  was  dead  silence.  The  Senora  trembled. 
Drummond  suddenly  braced  himself  and  looked  her 
straight  in  the  face. 

"I've  only  one  answer  to  that,  Agnes,"  he  said 
quietly.  "  There  is  a  policeman  at  the  corner.  Call 
him  in.  I  see  you  mean  to  do  it.  I  know  better  than 
to  expect  mercy  from  you.  I'll  take  what  is  coming 
to  me.  I  have  earned  it." 

He  drew  a  sharp  breath. 

"I  have  not  sunk  so  low,"  he  said  briefly,  "as  to 
be  threatened  into  marriage." 

Agnes  looked  at  him  oddly. 

"Ah!"  she  whispered,  "if  you'd  said  yes — if  you'd 
knuckled  down — I'd  have  called  in  that  cop  quicker 'n 
you  could  turn  yourself  round!" 

Her  hands  fell  to  her  sides. 


THE  THREE  DEEDS  425 

"I'm  glad,"  she  said  breathlessly.  " I'm  glad  you 
didn't  fall  for  it,  Harold!" 

She  put  her  hands  on  his  shoulders. 

"  Don't  you  want  me,  Harold?"  she  said  piteously. 
"Has  it  got  to  be  good-bye?" 

He  stirred  at  her  touch ;  his  face  showed  how  deeply 
he  was  moved. 

"Agnes,  how  is  it  possible?"  he  said  wretchedly. 
"What  can  we  do?  I'm  done  for.  I've  got  to  get 
out  of  this  country " 

"So  have  I.    None  of  us  can  stay  here." 

"I'm  a  pauper,  too.  I've  nothing  left  in  the  world. 
I  mean  to  work.  But  I  have  no  living  to  offer  a 
wife,  and  as  like  as  not  I  shall  go  under.  Why 
drag  you  with  me?  We  are  beggars  both."  He 
looked  at  her  despairingly.  "Do  you  see  any 
hope?" 

Before  Agnes  could  answer  there  was  a  rap  at  the 
door.  The  Senora,  with  a  sense  of  relief  at  the  inter- 
ruption, went  to  open  it.  The  hotel  porter  handed 
her  a  card. 

"What  is  it?"  said  Agnes  listlessly. 

"'Mr.  James  Langley,'"  read  the  Senora.  The 
girl  glanced  up. 

"Langley!"  she  muttered.  "That's  Joan's  solic- 
itor— the  guy  that  stood  for  her  with  Mottisfont  in 
the  law-suit.  I  know  what  he  wants !  Have  him  in ! " 
she  said  defiantly.  "Who  cares?" 

Mr.  Langley,  grave  and  dignified,  made  his  ap- 
pearance. He  bowed  formally  to  the  two  women. 
Drummond  was  hurrying  out. 

"Mr.  Drummond,  is  it  not?"  said  Langley,  de- 


426    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

taining  him.  "You  will  convenience  me  by  remain- 
ing. My  business  concerns  you  also." 

Drummond  looked  both  foolish  and  apprehensive. 
But  Agnes  walked  forward  and  faced  the  lawyer. 

"I'm  wise  to  you!"  she  said.  "You're  here  on 
behalf  of  Lady  Tallbois — to  pull  me  for  all  the  money 
I  spent  out  o'  the  estate — same  as  I  pulled  her!  I 
ain't  kicking.  Get  on  an'  do  it!"  she  laughed  bit- 
terly. "We're  all  paupers  here — we're  down  an*  out. 
I've  no  husband  to  pay  up  for  me!" 

Mr.  Langley  looked  at  her  thoughtfully. 

"As  you  did  to  Lady  Tallbois?"  he  repeated  in  a 
grave  voice.  "Well,  I  am  here  on  my  client's  behalf. 
You  may  hear  me,  and  consider  the  suggestion  I 
bring,  if  you  choose.  Or  it  is  open  to  you  to  refuse  it." 

"Get  busy  an'  say  your  piece,"  replied  Agnes, 
"and  then  quit.  I'll  hear  you.  You  can't  get  blood 
out  of  a  stone!" 

Mr.  Langley  seated  himself,  and  spread  some 
papers  before  him  on  the  table. 

"I  propose  to  say,"  he  remarked  drily,  "that  I  do 
not  in  the  least  approve  of  this  action.  But  I  am 
here  to  carry  out  my  instructions.  Here  are  three 
legal  deeds  for  your  consideration;  supposing  you 
agree  to  the  terms  they  will  not  be  signed  and 
executed  till  the  actual  date  in  question.  I  will 
explain  them  briefly." 

He  held  up  a  paper  and  perused  it  through  his 
glasses. 

"The  first  is  a  deed  of  settlement  by  the  Viscount- 
ess Tallbois  of  Knayth,  to  the  Sefiorita  Agnes  De 
Castra,  on  the  date  of  her  marriage  to  Mr.  Harold 


THE  THREE  DEEDS  427 

Drummond,  to  be  considered  as  a  dowry — the  sum 
of  five  thousand  pounds." 

Agnes  looked  perfectly  stupefied.  Her  lips  trem- 
bled ;  the  colour  ebbed  and  flowed  in  her  cheeks. 

"The  second  is  a  similar  deed,  by  Viscountess 
Tallbois,  to  Mr.  Harold  Drummond,  on  the  date  of 
his  marriage  to  the  Senorita  Agnes  De  Castra — the 
sum  of  five  thousand  pounds." 

Drummond  made  a  faint  noise  in  his  throat. 

"The  third,  a  deed  of  gift — unconditional — to  the 
Senora  Mercedes  De  Castra,  which  it  is  hoped  she 
will  accept — ten  thousand  pounds." 

Mr.  Langley's  voice  died  upon  an  impressive 
stillness. 

"I  propose  to  add,  in  my  capacity  as  legal  repre- 
sentative, that,  in  the  event  of  your  accepting,  we 
consider  you  are  all  more  suited  to  a  warmer  climate" 
— he  coughed  primly — "than  that  of  England."  He 
distributed  a  bow  between  the  three.  "I  mean,  of 
course,  Florida,  or  some  such  country.  What  answer 
am  I  to  take  back  with  me?" 

Neither  Agnes  nor  Drummond  were  capable  of 
speech.  They  met  each  other's  eyes,  and  there  was 
no  need  for  words.  It  was  the  Senora  who  spoke. 
Two  fat  tears  rolled  down  her  cheeks. 

"Tell  Lady  Tallbois,"  she  said  in  a  trembling 
voice,  "that  I  can  on!y  pray  God  bless  her.  This 
is  a  black  world,  but  there  is  one  angel  in  it  at  least." 

"I  say  so,  too,"  said  Agnes  faintly,  "though  she 
won't  care  to  hear  it — from  me." 

Mr.  Langley  bowed  silently  and  withdrew,  taking 
his  papers  with  him.  Drummond  had  still  been 


428    THE  MAN  WITH  BROODING  EYES 

unable  to  make  any  reply.  Shame  burned  his  very 
soul.  But  he  turned  his  eyes  longlingly  on  Agnes. 
Before  either  of  them  could  speak,  the  Senora  gave 
a  little  cry. 

"I  am  an  old  fool!"  she  said,  fumbling  in  her 
pocket  with  a  shaking  hand  and  bringing  out  a  letter 
which  she  looked  at  through  tear-dimmed  eyes. 
"This  came  by  the  last  post — I  forgot  it — I  think 
it  must  be  from  her.  Take  it,  Agnes;  I  cannot  read 
English  very  well." 

Agnes  opened  the  letter;  it  was  addressed  to  her, 
and  read  it  aloud. 

You  will  not  care  to  see  me;  I  wish  to  spare  you  any 
possible  pain.  I  hope  you  will  not  refuse  the  little  I 
can  do. 

Go  to  the  man  who  loves  you,  Agnes.  That  is  the 
only  thing  that  matters  at  all. — JOAN. 

There  was  a  pause.  Agnes  and  Drummond  turned 
to  each  other,  with  hands  outstretched. 

The  Senora,  mopping  her  yellow  cheeks  and  sob- 
bing happily,  slipped  out  of  the  room. 


Ten  days  later  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Harold  Drummond, 
accompanied  by  the  Senora  Mercedes  De  Castra, 
sailed  on  the  S.S.  Guadeloupe  for  Key  West. 


On  a  summer  day,  several  years  after  the  events 
just  related,  Lady  Dunluce  (white-haired  now  and 
amiable  as  ever,  and  still  avid  of  Romance)  alighted 


THE  THREE  DEEDS  429 

from  her  car  in  front  of  Knayth  Abbey,  and  walked 
towards  the  terrace. 

On  the  path  between  the  cedars  she  was  confronted 
by  a  very  small  boy  with  frank,  light  blue  eyes  and 
chubby  legs.  A  small  boy  so  extraordinarily  sturdy 
that  he  looked  as  if  nothing  could  knock  him  down. 

"How  do  you  do?"  he  said  with  grave  courtesy. 
"I  hope  you  are  vewwy  well?" 

"Thank  you,  Philip.  I  find  myself  in  enviable 
health,"  said  Lady  Dunluce,  who  was  a  great  friend 
of  his.  "  By  the  way,  have  you  heard  what  they  are 
going  to  do  with  your  papa?" 

"Yeth.  He  is  going  to  be  a  Chancellor,"  said 
Philip  pensively.  "  I  think  it  will  be  wather  dull." 

"  He  will  like  it,"  chuckled  Lady  Dunluce.  " They 
will  make  him  a  lord." 

"Is  that  because  of  mother?" 

"Oh,  no.    All  off  his  own  bat." 

"My  papa  is  a  gweat  man,"  said  the  infant  cheer- 
fully. "And  I  am  vewwy  fond  of  him.  But  he  will 
only  be  a  new  lord.  And  I,"  he  added,  surveying 
serenely  the  towers  of  Knayth,  "am  a  vewwy  old 
lord." 

At  that  moment  Joan  and  Philip  came  round  the 
shrubbery  together.  And  Philip  hoisted  the  very  old 
lord  high  upon  his  shoulder,  and  the  meeting  dis- 
solved in  laughter. 

THE  END 


WITHOUT  MERCY 

BY 
JOHN  GOODWIN 


Mrs.  Garth,  a  genius  of  finance, 
a  personage  in  the  social  world,  and 
head  of  a  great  banking  firm,  is  de- 
termined that  her  beautiful  daugh- 
ter shall  not  many  Sir  Melmoth 
Craven,  of  the  sinister  Steinberg 
Syndicate.  He,  equally  determined, 
and  humiliated,  plans  revenge,  not 
suspecting  that  Mrs.  Garth,  under 
another  name,  heads  Gordon's, 
Ltd.,  a  notorious  and  powerful 
money-lending  establishment.  A 
story  full  of  thrilling  situations  and 
exciting  incidents. 


G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 

New  York  London 


The  Bad  Man 

By 

Charles  Hanson  Towne 

12°  Frontispiece 

A  novel,  based  on  the  Play  by  Porter 
Emerson  Browne. 

A  gorgeously  entertaining  new  char- 
acter in  fiction.  The  amazing  and  amus- 
ing adventures  of  a  lovable  freebooter 
of  the  twentieth  century.  Who  has  not 
heard  of  this  delightful  Bad  Man?  For 
many  months  he  has  been  running  wild 
before  packed  houses — at  last  he  is  cap- 
tured between  the  covers  of  a  book. 

"The  story  of  'the  bad  man/  the 
Mexican  who  had  no  regard  for  law  but 
considered  his  obligations  to  a  friend 
very  seriously,  is  told  quite  as  dramat- 
ically as  in  the  play." 

St  Louis  Globe'Democrat 

"  A  brisk  play  and  it  fills  a  brisk  book." 


The  House  in 
Queen  Anne  Square 

By 
W.  D.  Lyell 

An  astonishing  tangle  of  mystery,  per- 
sonation, and  crime  into  which  the  author 
leads  his  readers,  and  several  times  they 
will  be  firmly  convinced  that  they  have  at 
last  found  the  master-clue  before  he  final- 
ly lets  them  see  they  were  wrong  all  the 
time. 

Aside  from  the  mystery  which  is  han- 
dled with  unflagging  dexterity,  this  is  an 
unusually  well  written  novel.  The  chap- 
ters relating  to  the  trial  are  exceptionally 
strong,  "and,"  adds  the  Glasgow  Herald, 
"the  perfectly  savage  portrait  of  the  pre- 
siding judge  will  be  relished  by  all 
Members  of  the  Bar." 

G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 

New  York  London 


The  Ivory  Fan 

By 

Adrian  Heard 

When  Lily  Kellaway  makes  the  observa- 
tion, "It  is  better  to  be  a  slave  to  a  man, 
which  is  natural,  than  to  a  woman,  which  is 
intolerable,"  she  recites  the  text  upon  which 
the  author  of  The  Ivory  Fan  has  built  up  a 
novel  that  is  at  once  humorous  in  its  cynicism 
and  cynical  in  its  humor.  At  the  same  time 
he  gives  us  a  pastel  of  certain  phases  of  life 
comprehensive  in  its  coloring  and  bitterly 
uncompromising  of  line. 

This  is  an  unconventional  book,  full  of  in- 
cident and  plenty  of  clever  dialogue. 

G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 

New  York  London 


000  125  667 


